wmmmmmtmmmmmtmmmmmmmtmimmmm 


DA  r cy  of  the 

Guards  or  the 

Fortunes  of 

War 

Jyhouis  Evan  Shipman 


A 


3 


u.B. CLARKE  en 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/darcyofguardsorfOOshipiala 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

OB 

The  FORTUNES  of  WAR 


D'ARCY»/  the  GUARDS 

OR 

The  FORTUNES  of  WAR 


BY 


LOUIS   EVAN  SHIPMAN 


HERBERT   S.  STONE  and  Company 

CHICAGO  and  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCXCIX 


COPYRIGHT    1899,    BY 
HERBERT  S.    STONE  &  CO 


3)3 


ALL   RIGHTS  OP  DRAMATIZATION 
ARE   RESERVED 


TO 

NICHOLAS    BIDDLE 

My  dear  Nic :  You  and  I  have  shared 
in  common,  so  wide  and  various  an 
acquaintance,  and  have  allowed  our 
disfancies  and  admirations  to  go  so  often 
hand  in  hand,  that  I  feel  some  hesitancy 
in  commending  Major  John  Gerald 
D'Arcy — D' Arcy  of  the  Guards — to  your 
special  consideration.  You  will  not  find 
him  worthy  of  the  little  company  which 
includes  our  old  intimates,  the  Marquis 
of  Esmond,  James  Durie,  David  Bal- 
four, Richard  Feverel,  Richmond  Roy 
and  Christopher  Newman,  but  the  fault 
of  that  belongs  to  me.  And  if  he  does 
take  some  small  place  in  your  affection, 
I  am  content  enough  to  think  that  it 
will  not  be  for  his  sake,  but  for  mine. 
Your  friend, 

New  York  Louis  Evan  Shipman 

February,  1899 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTKB 

PACK 

I. 

The  Inn  on  the  Heath     . 

1 

II. 

Major  D'Arcy  of  the  Guard1 

3       13 

III. 

Two  in  a  Coach 

27 

IV. 

An  Invitation  to  Supper 

41 

V. 

My  Lord  and  Major  D'Arcs 

r 

Sup  Out 

53 

VI. 

A  Continental  Dragoon 

63 

VII. 

A  Friend  Indeed 

79 

VIII. 

Unwelcome  Guests 

93 

IX. 

The  Conquerors 

103 

X. 

Correspondence 

113 

XI. 

A  Proposal 

121 

XII. 

A  Visitor 

135 

XIII. 

Mistaken  Identity  . 

147 

XIV. 

A  Council  of  War   . 

161 

XV. 

Major  D'Arcy  is  Surprised 

183 

XVI. 

Pamela  Takes  to  the  Road 

193 

XVII. 

Compensations 

205 

XVIII. 

Two  That  Wouldn't  See 

215 

XIX 

Adjustments 

229 

D'Arcy  of  the  Guards 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   INN   ON   THE   HEATH 

It  was  a  black  night  near  the  end  of 
March  in  the  year  1777,  and  on  that  very 
blackness  depended  the  fate  of  a  gallant 
officer  in  His  Majesty's  service,  of  a  certain 
maid  far  away  in  His  Majesty's  rebellious 
American  colonies,  and  the  telling  of  this 
tale ;  so  often  do  we  find  the  most  momen- 
tous instant  in  our  lives  hang  by  the  slen- 
der thread  of  a  seeming  unimportant 
circumstance.  For  if  the  sluggard  moon 
had  not  been  held  back  beyond  his  usual 
wont  by  a  band  of  riotous  and  surly  clouds, 
Dick  Conyngham  and  his  pals  would 
never  have  ventured  on  so  hazardous  an 
undertaking;  Major  D'Arcy  would  never 
have  been    able  to  put  the   Marquis   of 

G under    an   obligation;    and    that 

omnipotent   nobleman  would  never  have 
1 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

lifted  a  finger  for  the  betterment  of  the 
young  soldier's  military  fortunes,  which 
hung  very  slack  just  at  this  time,  as  we 
shall  presently  see. 

On  the  edge  of  the  heath  not  half  a 
score  of  miles  from  London,  and  back 
from  the  highway  less  than  a  good  stone's 
throw,  stood  the  "Jolly  George,"  a 
humble  but  cheerful  hostelry,  that  was 
particularly  affected  by  Mr.  Richard 
Conyngham  and  his  select  circle  of  night- 
riders;  as  audacious  and  dashing  a  body 
of  toll-gatherers  as  ever  wore  mask  and 
infested  the  king's  post-roads.  The 
casual  wayfarer  seldom  passed  into  its 
sanded  tap-room;  not  on  account  of  any 
prejudice  against  the  hospitality  offered 
there,  but  because  the  inn  itself  was 
scarce  visible  from  the  main  road,  either 
by  night  or  day.  So  its  chief  visitors  were 
made  up  of  post-boys,  coachmen,  postil- 
lions: the  riffraff  of  the  road,  and  the 
initiated  few  of  Mr.  Conyngham 's  profes- 
sion, for  whom  was  reserved  the  little 
parlor  one  step  down  and  back  from  the 
tap-room. 

It  was  in  special  requisition  this  night, 
2 


The  INN  on  the  HEATH 

and  no  less  a  person  than  Dick  Conyng- 
ham  himself  leaned  over  the  fire  poking 
moodily  at  the  blazing  embers.  His 
companions,  Gerdor,  an  able  lieutenant  of 
Conyngham's,  and  Jemmy  Twill,  the  land- 
lord, a  twinkle-eyed  rogue,  hand-in-glove 
with  these  light-fingered  gentry,  puffed 
spasmodically  at  their  church  -  wardens, 
and  were  visibly  depressed  by  the  moody 
man's  low  spirits. 

"I  tell  you  what's  truth,  Gerdor,"  he 
said  at  last,  straightening  himself  after  a 
last  vicious  lunge  with  the  tongs,  "if  we 
don't  make  a  decent  haul  in  the  next  three 
nights,  I'm  for  the  North  Road." 

"As  you  say,  Captain,"  replied  Gerdor. 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Twill, 
his  glass  of  spirits  suspended  between  lips 
and  table. 

"Oh,  you  be  damned,"  answered 
Conyngham,  turning  a  black  face  toward 
him.  "You're  the  only  one  in  the  crowd 
that  makes  anything,  and  you  risk  noth- 
ing." 

"Very  kindly  spoke,  Dick  Conyngham. 
But  memory  should  serve  you  better." 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Jemmy,"  flung  out 
3 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

Gerdor  through  a  rift  of  smoke.  But 
Jemmy  didn't;  he  opened  wide,  drained 
his  glass  and,  evidently  finding  conciliation 
at  the  bottom  of  it,  whipped  his  temper 
about.  "What's  the  use  of  complaining, 
Dick;  you've  done  well  enough,"  he 
said. 

"What  d'ye  call  'well  enough'?  A  beg- 
garly handful  of  guineas,  and  my  lodging 
paid?  I  tell  you,"  turning  once  more  to 
Gerdor,  "we've  got  to  change." 

"I  feel  it  in  my  bones  that  our  luck  is 
on  the  mend,  Dick,"  said  Gerdor. 

"It  could  mend  much  and  gain  us 
little,"  said  the  other,  rising  and  propping 
the  mantel-shelf  with  his  great  shoulders. 

"Wait  till  Kit  turns  up;  he  may  have 
good  news  this  very  night,"  put  in  Twill. 

"I  tell  you,  we've  wrung  the  road  dry, 
and  what  if  the  coach  has  anything  to- 
night? The  cursed  moon  has  turned 
night  into  day,  and  the  country's  as  bright 
as  the  Mall  at  noon." 

"Don't  be  so  sure  of  that,  Captain," 

said  Gerdor.    "I  have  an  idea  that  Oliver 

has  had  his  eyes   closed  for  the  night." 

He  rose  and  pushed  back  the    curtains. 

4 


The  INN  on  the  HEATH 

"I'd  stake  my  life  on  it,  now,"  he  added. 
"It's  as  black  a  night  as  I  ever  could  wish 
for." 

Conyngham  stepped  to  his  side  and  cast 
a  weather-wise  eye  at  the  quickly-moving 
masses  of  black  cloud  that  told  of  the 
coming  storm. 

"Well?"  questioned  Twill. 

"A  splendid  night  for  an  empty  coach," 
was  all  the  reply  he  got,  as  Conyngham 
lazily  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"I'll  bet  you  five  quid,  Dick,  that  we 
bag  a  full  purse  to-night,"  Gerdor  said, 
turning  from  the  window,  his  spirits 
revived  by  the  outside  gloom. 

"Done,"  said  Conyngham.  "If  you 
win,  you're  welcome  to  them;  if  I  win, 
they'll  be  welcome  to  me. " 

"And  what  time  can  we  expect  Kit, 
Jemmy?"  asked  Gerdor. 

"He  was  to  wait  at  Demford  for  the 
coach ;  if  it  was  anything  worth  while,  he 
would  be  back  here  by  nine,  if  not  he 
would  take  his  time." 

"It  is  now  nine,  less  ten  minutes," 
said  Conyngham,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
little  clock  that  was  furiously  ticking  out 
5 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

its  race  against  time.    "If  he's  not  here  in 
twenty  minutes,  I  win." 

"You  don't  win  till  break  of  dawn," 
laughed  Gerdor.  "Purses  have  been  lifted 
between  the  hours  of  ten  at  night  and  six 
in  the  morning." 

"Optimism  has  been  the  death  of  better 
men  than  you,  Gerdor,"  sneered  his  chief. 

"Well,  I  say  some  more  spirits,"  sug- 
gested Twill,  and  meeting  with  no  remon- 
strance, he  bustled  into  the  tap-room,  and 
replenished  the  glasses. 

Gerdor,  roused  from  his  previous  apathy, 
was  now  impatiently  pacing  the  room; 
now  stopping  at  the  window;  now  facing 
the  clock  with  screwed  brows.  For  the  hand 
was  already  past  the  hour,  and  the  tip 
of  a  smile  was  beginning  to  hover  around 
Conyngham's  thin  lips. 

Jemmy  had  returned,  and  he  and  Ger- 
dor drank  the  perennial  toast  of  all  high- 
waymen, in  all  times :  a  full  purse,  to  the 
sarcastic  accompaniment  of  Conyngham's 
"Some  other  night  on  some  other 
road." 

•  "I    believe   you'd    let    a    Bishop   slip 

through  your  fingers  to-night,  Dick,  just 

6 


The  INN  on  the  HEATH 

to  win  my  miserable  five  quid,  and  to  be 
able  to  crack  one  of  your  miserable  jokes, " 
said  Gerdor. 

"On  the  contrary,  I'll  fight  a  coach  load 
to  help  you  win ;  I  hope  to  God  you  will — 
for  my  own  sake." 

"It's  getting  late  for  Kit,"  remarked 
Twill,  comparing  his  watch  with  the 
ticker  on  the  shelf. 

"Damn  the  luck,"  muttered  Gerdor. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Conyngham,  and  he 
smiled  in  an  abstracted  way,  as  he  bal- 
anced the  blade  of  his  sword  on  one 
hand. 

Gerdor 's  moment  of  enthusiasm  seemed 
to  have  passed;  he  drew  a  chair,  in  no 
good  humor,  to  the  table,  and  mechanic- 
ally examined  the  priming  of  two  neat- 
looking  pistols,  while  Twill  remained  the 
only  sanguine  member  of  the  trio,  with 
still  an  eye  for  the  clock,  and  an  ear  for 
the  noises  of  the  night  outside. 

It  was  the  alert  Conyngham,  though, 
that  first  caught  the  sound  of  an  approach- 
ing horseman  at  full  gallop.  Listlessness 
dropped  from  him  like  a  flash,  and  his 
black  eyes  sparkled  with  the  light  of 
7 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

anticipation,  as  he  stepped  quickly  to  the 
door  at  the  side,  which  opened  on  the  tiny 
courtyard,  and  flung  it  open.  Gerdor  and 
Twill  were  at  his  back  in  a  second. 

"What  is  it,  Dick?"  asked  Gerdor. 

"Kit,"  answered  Conyngham,  "and  he 
has  some  news  worth  the  telling,  or  he's 
using  the  spur  for  nothing." 

"You're  right,  he's  coming  on  at  a 
pace,"  exclaimed  Twill,  as  he  held  a 
flickering  candle  high  overhead,  and 
peered  out  into  the  black. 

By  this  time  the  rider  had  turned  from 
the  road  into  the  lane,  and  was  making 
straight  for  the  inn.  Evidently  the 
shimmer  of  Twill's  candle-light  had 
become  visible,  for  a  loud  "Halloa"  came 
out  of  the  darkness. 

"It  is  Dick,"  ejaculated  Gerdor,  and 
Conyngham  gave  an  answering  shout.  A 
second  later  Kit  Darrell  and  his  steaming 
mare  pulled  up  before  the  three  expectant 
worthies.  A  peculiar  whistle  from  Twill 
brought  a  sleepy  hostler  out  of  the  stables, 
who,  after  an  admonition  from  Darrell, 
led  away  the  fagged  mount,  and  the  group 
pushed  back  into  the  parlor. 
8 


The  INN  on  the  HEATH 

"News,  Kit?"  asked  Conyngham, 
sharply. 

"The  best." 

"Out  with  it,  then,"  said  Gerdor,  scarce 
able  to  conceal  his  impatience. 

"The  coach  leaves  Denxford  at  nine," 
said  Darrell,  addressing  himself  to 
Conyngham. 

"Yes,  go  on." 

"With  two  passengers." 

"Is  that  all?"  interrupted  Twill. 

"Shut  up,  Twill.  Go  on  Kit,"  said 
Conyngham,  angrily. 

"One  of  'em  is  a  Major  D'Arcy,  the 
other  is  some  government  nob,  and  we 
ought  to  get  six  hundred  guineas  between 
'em." 

"Who  is  on  the  box?"  questioned 
Gerdor. 

"Bill  Mace." 

"Good,"  remarked  Conyngham.  "And 
who  is  the  guard?" 

"A  new  one,"  said  Kit,  "we'll  have  to 
finish  him." 

"Easy  enough,"  rejoined  the  Captain. 

"Is  D'Arcy  armed,  and  the  other  one?" 

"Yes.     I  tried  to  get  at  their  pistols  at 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

Demford,  but  the  blackguards  took  'em 
into  supper  with  them." 

"I  hate  suspicious  passengers,"  re- 
marked Twill. 

"Where's  the  best  place  to  do  the 
business?"  asked  Gerdor. 

"There's  only  one  place,"  answered 
Conyngham,  "in  the  hollow  by  the 
bridge.  We  must  be  off  in  five  minutes. 
A  glass  of  brandy,  all  around,  Jemmy." 

"Right  you  are,  Dick,"  said  Twill,  as 
he  hurried  up  the  step  into  the  bar. 

"Take  a  look  at  your  pistols,  boys. 
Fresh  priming  won't  go  amiss,"  ordered 
Conyngham,  the  note  of  command  coming 
into  his  voice.  And  by  the  time  Jemmy 
returned  with  the  refreshment,  three  pair 
of  murderous-looking  pistols  had  been 
freshly  primed,  cloaks  and  hats  had  been 
donned,  spurs  tightened  and  swords 
adjusted.  The  old  toast  was  drunk  with 
gusto,  and  the  three  issued  to  the  yard 
ready  for  their  adventure,  the  dancing 
light  of  Twill's  lantern  throwing  giant 
shadows  as  they  strode  forward. 

A  moment  later  they  were  in  the  saddle, 
and  with  a  wave  to  Twill  swept  gallantly 
10 


The  INN  on  the  HEATH 

down  the  lane,  to  meet  what  was  to  be 
the  most  serious  event  in  Mr.  Richard 
Conyngham's  life.  Twill  stood  gazing 
after,  till  the  night  swallowed  them,  and 
the  last  pounding  of  hoofs  sounded  in  his 
ear. 


11 


CHAPTER  II 

MAJOR   D'ARCY   OF  THE   GUARDS 

It  was  shortly  before  noon  of  the  same 
day,  whose  later  course  saw  the  adventurers 
depart  from  the  inn  on  the  heath,  that  the 
London  coach,  Bill  Mace  on  the  box, 
drew  up  in  the  yard  of  the  "Bush  Tree" 
at  Belden,  and  deposited  a  solitary  passen- 
ger on  the  doorstep.  This  gentleman's 
descent  from  the  vehicle  was  watched  with 
close,  quick  scrutiny  from  behind  a  cur- 
tained window,  and  his  appearance  war- 
ranted the  hasty  and  obsequious  attention 
of  the  landlord  at  the  portal  of  his  house, 
where  he  bent  his  lowest,  as  Major  D'Arcy 
passed  into  the  ordinary.  The  degree  of 
genuflection  is  a  sure  determinant  of  mine 
host's  opinion,  and  there  was  nothing 
doubtful  in  the  impression  which  the 
young  soldier  made  on  the  worthy  hostel- 
keeper,  who  now  hurried  after  him  to 
do  the  utmost  courtesy  of  kitchen  and 
cellar. 

13 


D'AIiCY  of  the  GUAKDS 

And  in  truth  John  Gerald  D'Arcy  was 
a  man  who  left  impressions,  the  most 
definite,  on  all  whom  he  chanced  to  meet. 
The  eyes  that  looked  straight ;  the  mouth 
that  held  firm,  or  relaxed  in  gaiety  or  to 
mock;  the  nose  that  told  of  birth,  all 
made  for  a  face  of  singular  strength  and 
sensibility;  while  the  lithe,  strong  body 
spoke  quietly  of  the  graces  that  nature 
and  fashion  give  but  to  a  fortunate  few. 
He  stood  for  a  moment,  ungloved,  with 
outstretched  hands  before  the  huge  fire  of 
crackling  chestnut,  that  vied  eagerly  with 
streaming  sunshine,  to  heat  the  comfort- 
able room,  then  made  his  way  to  a  corner 
table  and  ordered  plentifully :  meat  of  the 
land — beef,  in  quantity,  with  a  dusty 
bottle  from  across  the  channel  to  keep  it 
company;  he  named  it  with  no  uncer- 
tainty, loading  thereby,  with  chains,  the 
admiration  of  his  host,  who  waited. 
This  done,  he  demanded  the  "London 
Gazette"  of  latest  date,  and  was  soon 
skipping  its  columns  for  news  of  the  army. 
With  not  much  satisfaction  to  himself, 
however,  as  the  result,  and  he  cast  the 
sheet  impatiently  aside,  and  drummed 
14 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

aimlessly  on  the  table,  while  his  brows  were 
screwed  perplexedly. 

He  was  just  recovering  from  a  painful 
wound  in  the  leg,  received  most  gallantly 
in  the  affray  with  the  American  rebels  at 
White  Plains,  New  York,  six  months 
before,  and  yet,  with  a  record  that  hardly 
another  officer  in  the  Guards  could  equal, 
his  career  in  the  army — near  the  dearest 
thing  in  the  world  to  him — was  brought 
to  a  full  stop,  and  he  had  a  lively  prevision 
of  its  absolute  curtailment,  which  calls 
for  short  retrospect  and  a  small  matter  of 
personal  history.  He  was  the  only  son  of 
one  of  those  anomalies,  a  rich  Irish  peer, 
Lord  D'Arcy,  himself  a  soldier  bred,  and 
tried,  as  a  flapping,  armless  sleeve  betok- 
ened; mute  evidence  of  the  day  at  Minden 
years  before.  The  tradition  of  the 
D'Arcys  included  at  least  three  terms  at 
Trinity  College,  Dublin;  tradition,  how- 
ever, could  only  force  young  Jack,  rebel- 
lious and  reluctant,  through  two,  when  his 
father  gave  up  the  fight  and  packed  him 
off  to  Paris  as  secretary  on  the  Embassy, 
where  he  stayed  for  three  years,  acquiring 
many  choice  accomplishments,  including 
15 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

several  unusual  tricks  with  the  rapier,  his 
skill  with  which  was  phenomenal,  and  a 
pretty  taste  in  lace  and  shoebuckles.  His 
experience  was  a  valuable  one,  neverthe- 
less, and  so  impressed  his  father  that  when 
a  change  of  ministry  brought  the  youngster 
back  to  London,  the  old  soldier  presented 
him  with  a  captaincy  in  the  Guards, 
where,  though  but  a  stripling  of  six  and 
twenty,  he  took  place  immediately.  Not, 
I  confess,  was  it  firmly  established,  how- 
ever, till  he  had  the  young  Marquis  of 
Vane  out  one  fine  morning,  for  some 
flippant  comment  on  the  style  of  his  hair. 
He  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  disarming 
his  older  antagonist,  and  his  hair  became 
the  fashion.  So  did  its  wearer.  He  was 
an  idol  of  the  town.  No  rout  was  quite 
successful  without  him,  and  no  fete, 
breakfast  or  supper.  No  one  lost  at 
hazard  with  quite  so  good  a  grace ;  and  no 
one  held  rapier  or  pressed  trigger  with 
firmer  hand.  Coffee-house  and  club  flung 
open  welcome  doors  at  his  approach,  and 
the  Guards'  mess  with  him  to  give  the 
toasts  was  a  thing  of  joy;  while  the  old 
lord  looked  on  and  grew  young  again,  pay- 
16 


MAJOK  D'ARCY  of  the  GUAEDS 

ing  guineas  by  the  thousand  for  privilege ; 
and  Lady  D'Arcy,  a  simple  lady  who 
hated  the  mad,  unnatural  London  life, 
watched  it  all  with  faltering  heart  and 
misgivings  for  her  boy. 

But  the  years  slipped  by,  and  he  was 
the  same  simple,  lovable  Jack  D'Arcy. 
Dissipation  laid  a  light  hand  on  him,  and 
common  sense  took  hold.  He  was  still  a 
town  gallant,  but  his  gaiety  was  more 
subdued.  An  affair  with  Lady  Betty 
Kew  —  more  serious  than  a  score  of 
previous  ones,  and  necessitating  constant 
journeyings  and  almost  removal  to  Bath — 
had  a  sobering  influence,  that  was  rather 
intensified  when  the  inconstant  jilted 
him  for  the  Earl  of  Strathleigh,  who 
carried  his  arm  in  a  sling  for  some  months 
afterwards,  however,  as  the  result  of  her 
indiscretion.  It  was  about  this  time  that 
he  got  his  majority ;  and  command  of  a 
battalion  added  to  the  seemliness  of  his 
port,  though  it  took  nothing  from  his 
good  humor,  and  his  brogue  lost  none  of 
its  insinuating  charm. 

Then  came  parlous  days.  The  rabble  in 
the  American  colonies  were  becoming 
17 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

defiant,  seditious,  even  rebellious,  and 
the  Guards  were  shipped  off  to  Boston 
Harbor,  to  teach  the  provincials  a  needed 
lesson  in  loyalty  and  obedience,  which 
curiously  enough  they  refused  to  learn. 
And  one  fine  day  Jack  D'Arcy,  at  the 
head  of  his  battalion,  charged  up  Breed's 
Hill  to  scatter  the  intrenched  and  fool- 
hardy yokels.  But — that  any  one  should 
live  to  chronicle  it — the  Guards  scattered 
and  fled  before  they  reached  the  top, 
with  Jack  and  his  brother  officers  cursing 
and  belaboring  their  backs  with  their 
swords.  They  reformed  at  the  bottom 
and  undertook  the  hideous  task  again, 
with  like  result;  once  more  and  this 
time  with  success,  but  with  what  a  tale 
to  tell  at  muster  call !  D  'Arcy  was  com- 
plimented by  Sir  William  Howe,  and, 
twinkling,  remarked  that  "the  hill  must 
have  been  defended  by  Irishmen."  It 
might  as  well  not  have  been  taken  at  all, 
as  it  turned  out,  for  the  inconsiderate 
Mr.  Washington,  not  long  after,  forced 
the  whole  British  army  to  retire,  and  it 
set  sail  for  New  York,  where  fell  the  mis- 
chance that  was  like  to  bring  ill -fame  to 
18 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

the  house  of  D'Arcy  and  disaster  to  its 
heir. 

It  was  this :  among  the  group  of  young 
officers  that  served  on  the  staff  of  General 
Howe  was  a  certain  young  nobleman  whose 
father  was  a  younger  brother  of  the  power- 
ful Marquis  of  G .     He,  in  common 

with  most  of  his  associates,  among  whom 
was  D'Arcy,  spent  most  of  his  nights  at 
the  gaming  table.  And  after  the  Battle 
of  Long  Island  (where  His  Majesty's 
forces,  with  some  slight  aid  from  their 
German  allies,  literally  annihilated  the 
Colonials,  and  which  put  the  pleasant 
town  of  New  York  completely  at  their  dis- 
posal), the  gambling  was  high  and  inces- 
sant. One  night — it  was  a  memorable 
one  to  D'Arcy — this  young  nobleman  was 
pitted  against  the  Guardsman  for  hours, 
and  arose  livid  from  the  sitting,  a  tempo- 
rary bankrupt.  But,  taking  his  ill-luck 
unkindly,  he  dashed  the  cards  in  his 
rival's  face,  with  a  foul  insinuation.  The 
provocation  was  flagrant,  the  insult  heard 
by  a  room  full  that  jumped  to  its  feet 
aghast.  Apology  was  demanded  and 
refused;  the  insult  repeated,  and  they 
19 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

met  not  half  an  hour  afterward.  The 
young  nobleman  was  grievously  wounded, 
and  try  never  so  hard  as  the  participants 
did,  the  affair  could  not  be  hushed  up, 
and  came  to  the  ears  of  Headquarters, 
where  dueling  was  frowned  at  and  stamped 
upon  viciously.  Luckily  for  Major 
D'Arcy,  the  fight  at  White  Plains  occurred 
two  days  afterward,  and  he  fell  with  a  bul- 
let in  his  leg,  which  enabled  Headquarters 
to  be  lenient,  and  he  was  gazetted  home 
on  sick  leave  (on  the  same  ship,  in  fact, 
that  carried  the  wounded  young  noble- 
man), with  private  advices,  however,  for 
the  war  office,  to  the  effect  that  he  had 
better  not  again  be  given  active  service ! 

In  ignorance  of  this,  once  convalescence 
was  past,  he  made  application  for  im- 
mediate detail  on  active  duty,  but  to  his 
astonishment  and  chagrin,  he  was  placed 
only  on  waiting  orders.  For  two  months 
now,  he  and  his  father  had  been  bringing 
every  influence  to  bear,  leaving  no  stone 
unturned,  to  get  orders  returning  him  to 
his  regiment  in  the  colonies.  To  no  pur- 
pose. The  young  nobleman's  friends, 
among  whom  was  the  powerful  Marquis 
20 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

of  G ,  before  spoken  of,  who  fed  in 

the  matter  a  private  grudge  of  years'  stand- 
ing against  Lord  D'Arcy,  foiled  their 
every  attempt,  and  the  house  of  D'Arcy 
was  in  despair. 

Day  after  day  the  "Gazette"  appeared, 
with  always  the  same  hideous  omission: 
no  orders  for  Major  John  Gerald  D'Arcy, 
of  the  Grenadier  Guards.  The  town  began 
to  talk.  Why,  if  Major  D'Arcy  was  so 
brilliant  an  officer,  did  Government  detain 
him  in  London?  was  a  question  on  tip- 
tongue  of  the  malignant,  and  one  difficult  of 
answer  by  the  old  Lord's  intimates  and  the 
Guardsman's  friends.  It  took  credulity 
the  most  amiable  to  believe  that  the 
people  of  the  wounded  young  nobleman 
were  using  such  strenuous  efforts  to  ruin 
the  career  of  his  opponent.  Yet  such  was 
the  case.  Their  success,  too,  was  assured 
with  the  powerful  aid  of  the  Marquis  of 

G ,  and  they  would  have  continued  to 

baffle  every  move  on  D'Arcy's  part,  if 
Chance  had  not  taken  pity  on  his  quandary 
and  presented,  all  unknown  to  him,  a 
solution. 

He  had  finished  his  meal  and  paid  the 
21 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

account.  A  glimpse  through  the  window 
of  fresh  horses  being  put  to  the  coach, 
gave  notice  that  the  start  was  at  hand. 
His  fingers  were  at  the  buckle  of  his 
cloak,  when  his  host  stood  before  him, 
hesitating  and  embarrassed,  but  with  evi- 
dent import  in  his  manner. 

"Pardon  me,  sir,  but  you've  booked  the 
whole  coach  for  London,  sir,  have  you 
not?"  was  his  question. 

"I  have." 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  there  is  a 
gentleman ' ' 

"I  know,"  interrupted  D'Arcy,  "but 
the  gentleman  will  not  get  to  London 
to-night — in  my  coach.  If  I  preferred 
company  I  should  not  have  booked  all  the 
seats." 

"I  quite  understand,  sir,"  stammered 
the  landlord,  "but  the  gentleman's  private 
chariot  has  broken  down  just  beyond  the 
town,  and  it  is  most  important  that  he 
should  reach  London  to-night." 

"Why  doesn't  he  hire  a  chaise?" 

"There  are  but  two  in  the  town,  sir, 
and  they  are  engaged." 

"What  did  you  say  was  the  gentleman's 
22 


MAJOK  D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

name?"  questioned  D'Arcy,  relenting  a 
trifle. 

"Mr. — Mr.  Blunt,"  quavered  Boniface, 
feeling,  however,  that  he  had  gained  his 
point,  which  he  had. 

"And  can  you  vouch  for  him?"  asked 
D'Arcy.  "I've  no  desire  to  ride  up  to 
London  with  some  light-fingered  gentle- 
man who  may  take  a  fancy  to  my 
watches." 

"Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  man,  almost 
hysterically,  as  D'Arcy  remembered  after- 
ward, "that  the  likes  of  me  should  ever 
dare  to  give  the  likes  of  him  a  character !" 

"Well,  tell  your  Mr.  Blunt  to  look 
sharp,"  laughed  D'Arcy,  convinced  that 
his  fellow  traveler  would  not  disturb  the 
peace,  and  he  made  exit  to  the  courtyard 
in  time  to  hear  Mace,  the  ruddy  Jehu, 
giving  final  directions  about  the  off  leader, 
while  the  guard  was  shoving  the  last  par- 
cels into  the  apron.  A  few  moments 
later,  he  was  aware  of  some  one  coming 
out  behind  him,  and  wheeling  about,  he 
came  face  to  face  with  a  tall,  vigorous, 
distinguished  looking,  old  gentleman, 
whose  eyes  seemed  to  bore  through  every- 
23 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

thing  they  lighted  on.  The  inn  keeper 
followed  humbly  at  his  heels,  and  carried 
two  leather  portmanteaux. 

"I  imagine,  sir,  that  it  is  to  your 
courtesy  I  am  indebted  for  my  coach- 
seat,"  said  the  gentleman,  addressing 
D'Arcy. 

•'Is  this— a— Mr.— Mr.  Blunt?"  ques- 
tioned D'Arcy,  staring.  He  had  pre- 
figured to  himself  some  dapper  goldsmith 
or  smug  and  comfortable  draper,  and  was 
entirely  unprepared  for  the  man  of  un- 
doubted fashion  and  breeding  who 
addressed  him. 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "I  am  the  Mr. 
Blunt  whom  the  good  man  here  has 
recommended  to  your  consideration." 

"The  pleasure  is  mine,  sir,"  announced 
D'Arcy. 

"And  may  I  ask  the  name  of  the  gentle- 
man by  whose  condescension  I  ride?  You 
are  of  the  army,  sir?"  questioned  Blunt, 
taking  in  the  military  cloak,  and  the 
gleam  of  scarlet  coat  that  showed  from 
under. 

"Major  D'Arcy " 

"Not  D'Arcy  of  the  Guards?"  asked 
24 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

the  old  man  quickly,  and  his  eyes  fairly 
snapped,  as  he  waited  for  reply. 

"The  same,"  said  D'Arcy,  not  un- 
pleased  at  the  other's  knowledge.  "Have 
we  friends  in  common?' ' 

"I  think  not, "  said  the  other,  icily,  and 
turned  to  give  directions  for  the  bestowal 
of  his  bags,  which  being  accomplished,  he 
entered  the  coach,  followed  by  D'Arcy, 
much  to  the  relief  of  Mace,  who,  as  the 
nimble  guard  slammed  the  door,  gave  the 
leaders  their  head,  the  wheelers  his  whip, 
and  the  coach  plunged  out  of  the  yard; 
the  huzzas  of  the  hostlers  sounding  after 
far  down  the  road. 


25 


CHAPTER  III 


TWO   IX   A   COACH 


The  scent  of  earth  hung  on  the  after- 
noon air — first  token  of  a  laggard  spring; 
the  sun — old-time  peacemaker  between 
the  seasons — stood  high  at  first,  forcing 
the  last  bit  of  reluctant  frost  from  out  the 
ground  (innocent  cause  of  Mace's  anathe- 
mas, as  he  urged  his  steaming  horses  on, 
while  first  front,  then  back  wheels  sunk, 
hub-deep,  into  the  mire),  then  played 
hide-and-seek  with  some  scudding  clouds 
that  spoke  of  a  brewing  storm,  and  finally 
disappeared  behind  the  hills,  leaving  a 
chill  wind  to  remind  the  travelers,  in  a 
cutting  way,  of  his  genial  absence. 

D'Arcy's  companion  had  settled  him- 
self comfortably  in  the  ample  folds  of  a 
sable-lined  cloak,  and  though  taciturn  and 
uninclined  to  converse,  D'Arcy  felt  that 
the  older  man  was  watching  him  closely. 
He  was  convinced,  too,  that  Mr.  Blunt 
was  traveling  incognito:  no  plain  mister 
27 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

journeyed  in  furs  or  dipped  snuff — 
genuine  Vigo — from  a  jeweled  snuff-box ; 
and  there  was  an  air  of  distinction  and 
quality  about  the  man  that  no  mere  "Mr. 
Blunt"  could  have  possessed.  But  it 
worried  D'Arcy  not  a  whit,  though  he  did 
wonder  why  the  mention  of  his  name  had 
frozen  the  stranger's  cordiality. 

It  was  over  the  jeweled  snuff-box  that 
conversation  first  opened.  Amiably  accept- 
ing its  polite  proffer,  D'Arcy  drew  off  a 
glove,  and  took  a  pinch  of  the  aromatic 
powder,  commenting  at  the  same  time  on 
its  choice  flavor. 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Blunt,  snapping  the 
box  lid,  and  dusting  his  fingers  delicately. 
"I'll  give  up  the  habit  when  my  stock  of 
this  is  gone.  You  younger  men  of  the  army 
don't  affect  it  much?"  he  questioned. 

"We've  fallen  low,  and  smoke  the 
weed,"  laughed  D'Arcy. 

"A  vicious  use  of  it,"  remarked  the 
other. 

"It  has  compensations." 

"But  no  graces,"  said  Blunt. 

"We  have  not   the    manners    of    our 
fathers,"  remarked  D'Arcy. 
28 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

"  'Twere  better  if  you  had." 

"You  grasp  my  meaning  entirely,  sir.'* 

"The  soldiers  of  your  father's  day 
would  not  have  fled  before  a  mob  of 
farmers,"  said  the  old  man,  irrelevantly 
and  with  some  bitterness. 

"You  refer  to  the  campaign  in  the  colo- 
nies?" asked  D'Arcy 

"I  do,  sir." 

"The  soldiers  of  my  father's  time  were 
never  pitted  against  Englishmen." 

"Don't  call  that  rabble  English,"  cried 
the  other,  testily. 

"Call  'em  what  you  will,  they  fight  like 
Englishmen, "  said  D  'Arcy. 

"Well,  Burgoyne  will  settle  the  busi- 
ness before  the  year  is  out,"  remarked 
Blunt,  having  recourse  once  more  to  the 
snuff-box. 

"I  trust  so,"  answered  D'Arcy, 
abstractedly. 

"And  when  do  you  rejoin  your  regi- 
ment?" questioned  Blunt,  his  eyes  twin- 
kling, unnoticed  by  his  companion. 

"God  knows!"  ejaculated  D'Arcy. 
"An  honorable  wound  seems  no  recom- 
mendation to  Government  for  active  serv- 
29 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

ice,  and  they  keep  me  here  eating  my 
heart  out,  while  they  send  the  king's 
money  to  Germany  for  men  who  have  not 
the  slightest  inclination  to  join  in  the 
quarrel." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  it,"  said 
Blunt. 

"No  doubt,"  rejoined  D'Arcy. 

"You  need  friends  at  court." 

"It's  a  sorry  day  for  soldiers  when  their 
records  don't  plead  for  'em,"  said 
D'Arcy,  drily 

"Records  are  double-faced,"  ventured 
the  old  man,  snuffing. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?" 

"Young  blades  nowadays  are  too  fond 
of  their  blades,"  said  the  other,  glancing 
out  of  the  window,  as  if  to  attach  no 
special  significance  to  his  words. 

"Ah,"  said  D'Arcy,  in  wonder ;  "you've 
heard  of  that  affair?  "Well,  let  me  tell 
you,  sir,  that  when  a  man  who  holds  His 
Majesty's  commission  refuses  to  draw  his 
sword  in  defense  of  his  honor,  it  will  be  a 
bad  day  for  His  Majesty. ' ' 

"May  be,"  said  Blunt,  curtly,  and  they 
relapsed  into  silence,  D'Arcy  cudgeling 
30 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

his  brain  for  the  identity  of  the  man,  who, 
by  innuendo,  showed  himself  so  knowing 
his  personal  affairs. 

The  color  of  the  afternoon  had  changed 
to  gray,  and  at  five,  as  they  cantered  down 
the  high  street  of  Scorley,  the  lights  were 
twinkling  all  about,  and  the  night  was 
coming  on  apace.  There  was  a  quick 
change  of  horses,  and  lighting  of  lanterns, 
while  Mace  and  the  alert  guard  gulped 
their  spirits  in  the  tap-room;  then,  with 
a  loud  "Get  along,  lads,"  from  Mace,  and 
a  merry  wind  from  the  guard's  horn,  they 
dashed  out  of  town  toward  Demford,  the 
next  stop.  They  had  almost  reached  that 
village,  after  three  hours  of  temper-trying 
jolts,  before  D'Arcy  again  addressed  his 
companion,  who  had  evidently  been  doz- 
ing most  part  of  the  time,  judging  from 
the  familiar  sounds  that  came  out  of  the 
cloak  which  muffled  him. 

"I  am  told  my  host  of  the  Demford  Inn 
offers  very  good  cheer,"  he  said,  "and  we 
are  near  at  hand,  if  I've  not  mistaken." 

"Hunger  has  me  in  its  grip,"  mur- 
mured Blunt,  sitting  up.  "What's  the 
hour?" 

31 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

D'Arcy  tugged  at  his  fob,  and  the 
repeater  chimed  eight  and  the  quarter. 

"Good,"  said  the  old  man,  "almost  on 
time." 

"If  these  cursed  roads  were  not  so 
hellish  rough,"  said  D'Arcy,  "we  would 
be  in  London  by  two." 

"It's  a  sad  journey  for  gouty  legs," 
remarked  Blunt. 

"It's  a  miserable  journey  for  any,"  re- 
joined D'Arcy.  And  at  that  moment,  with 
a  loud  clatter  the  horses  struck  the  cobbles 
of  the  inn  yard,  and  with  a  hearty 
"Who-a!"  Mace  brought  them  up  on  their 
haunches,  just  beyond  the  wide-open  door. 

Several  aproned  drawers  from  the  tap- 
room, headed  by  the  beaming  host,  whose 
jaw  fell  when  two  only  descended  from 
the  coach,  but  whose  face  resumed  its 
wonted  smile  again  when  he  became  aware 
of  their  quality,  bustled  about  and  assisted 
the  stiffened  passengers  into  the  lighted, 
cheery  ordinary,  where  a  welcome  blaze  of 
logs,  made  particularly  bitter,  by  compar- 
ison, the  remembrance  of  their  dreary 
hour's  ride. 

A  supper  was  ordered  that  fully  justified 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

the  landlord  in  his  opinion  of  his  guests, 
and  they  ate  ravenously,  not  slighting 
either  what  they  drank.  In  fact,  Blunt 
engulfed  such  prodigious  quantities  of 
port  that  his  gout  was  no  longer  a  mystery 
— if  it  ever  was — to  his  younger  compan- 
ion. He  mellowed,  too,  under  its  potency, 
and  leaned  to  D'Arcy  with  laughing  eyes 
better  to  catch  the  fun  of  the  Irishman's 
wit,  which  was  bubbling.  So  loud  they 
grew,  and  really  gay,  that  the  clock's 
hands  fairly  flew  in  disgust  at  their 
ribaldry,  and  stood  pointing  at  the  hour  of 
departure — nine,  before  they  were  aware. 

"Is  the  road  clear?"  asked  D'Arcy  of 
the  keeper,  as  they  stood  once  more  on 
the  threshold. 

"There  have  been  one  or  two  suspicious 
characters  about  the  town  these  last  two 
days,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

"No  robberies,  though?" 

"None  for  a  week  past,  sir." 

"This  is  Conyngham's  borough,  isn't 
it?"  said  Blunt. 

"He  is  supposed  to  be  about,  sir," 
answered  the  landlord. 

"Then  it's  a  rotten  one,"  laughed 
33 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

D'Arcy.      "Come  on,  Mr.   Blunt,  we'll 
risk  Conyngham. " 

Blunt  followed  the  Irishman  rather 
dubiously,  and  was  particular  in  the 
rearrangement  of  his  portmanteaux.  They 
were  fixed  at  last,  however,  and  the  start 
made. 

"Have  you  pistols,  Major?"  asked 
Blunt. 

"I  have,  Mr.  Blunt,  and  a  pretty  pair 
of  barkers  they  are."  He  leaned  forward 
and  drew  two  silver -mounted  pistols  from 
his  capacious  pockets.  "I'll  just  look  to 
their  priming.  May  you  happen  to  have 
anything  of  the  sort  yourself?" 

"Yes,  here,"  replied  Blunt. 

"And  your  rapier?"  questioned  D'Arcy. 

"Yes,"  said  Blunt. 

"Fie,  fie,  Mr.  Blunt,  you  should  leave 
blades  to  the  blades,  sir." 

"You  have  me  there,  Major,"  laughed 
Blunt.    ' 

"Well,  you'll  admit  they're  handy 
weapons  on  occasion." 

"You're  better  authority  than  I,"  said 
the  old  man,  in  the  same  tone  that  had 
stopped  conversation  before. 
34 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

"Well,  I  won't  deny  it,"  said  D'Arcy, 
"and  I  entirely  agree  with  my  own 
opinion." 

"It's  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades," 
remarked  the  old  man,  peering  ont. 

"It's  as  black  as  the  deuce  of  spades, 
which  is  just  twice  as  black  as  the  ace," 
rejoined  D'Arcy,  leaning  to  his  window. 

"Well,  it  must  be  endured,"  he  added, 
settling  himself  as  comfortably  as  was  pos- 
sible in  the  swaying,  lurching  chariot, 
while  Blunt  did  the  same. 

They  had  struggled  on  through  the 
night  for  near  an  hour — D'Arcy  had 
appealed  to  his  repeater  once,  and  it  had 
chimed  the  three-quarters — when  they 
struck  a  comparatively  level  bit  of  road. 

"We  must  be  cutting  across  country 
now,"  remarked  D'Arcy. 

"Why?"  questioned  Blunt. 

"We're  running  so  smoothly,"  answered 
the  Irishman  gaily,  and  the  words  were 
scarce  off  his  lips  when  the  coach  came  to 
a  stop,  with  a  jolt  that  sent  them  flying 
forward.  At  the  same  moment  there 
were  two  shots  in  quick  succession  and  a 
jumble  of  cursing  voices. 
35 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Quick,  man,  your  pistols!"  cried 
D'Arcy,  and  he  sprang  from  the  coach, 
just  as  a  giant  figure  charged  up  on  horse- 
back. "Give  way  there,  you  damned 
scoundrel,"  yelled  Gerdor,  with  an  oath. 
They  fired  simultaneously,  and  D'Arcy 
heard  the  crash  of  glass  behind,  while 
Gerdor,  with  a  cry  or  a  sob,  faded  into 
the  black  of  his  mount,  which  reared, 
and  galloped  off  with  a  senseless  thing 
bouncing  on  its  rump. 

There  were  shots  on  the  far  side  of  the 
coach,  too,  and  then  D'Arcy,  a3  he  ran 
forward,  heard  the  quick  click  of  steel. 
He  pushed  under  the  heads  of  the  quiver- 
ing leaders  and  stumbled  against  a  man 
lying  huddled ;  as  he  recovered  himself  cad 
turned,  the  blood  seemed  driven  from  his 
heart.  In  the  feeble  shimmering  light 
that  the  coach  lamp  cast,  he  saw  Blunt, 
his  old  face  spread  over  with  a  fearful 
pallor,  standing  with  his  back  against  the 
panels,  in  the  last  weak  struggle  with  a 
man  who  seemed  to  be  playing  with  him, 
so  supple  and  powerful  did  he  show  in 
every  movement.  With  a  shout  D'Arcy 
sprang  toward  them.     "You  bastard!"  he 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

cried,  "fight  with  a  man  your  equal,"  and 
he  engaged  with  Dick  Conyngham,  at  the 
very  moment  that  Blunt 's  sword  fell  from 
his  hand,  and  the  old  man  himself  sank 
exhausted. 

"I'll  slit  that  white  throat  of  yours," 
gasped  Conyngham;  but  in  the  moment 
of  saying  it  he  knew  that  he  had  met  his 
master ;  he  was  fighting  against  a  wrist  of 
steel  and  a  skill  that  was  infernal.  With 
a  curse  he  gave  ground  before  the  fierce 
assault  of  his  opponent,  and  the  second 
later — so  swiftly  that  the  blackguard 
never  knew  his  fate — D'Arcy's  blade 
drove  through  his  heart.  Dick  Conyng- 
ham had  won  his  wager  I 

Blunt  slowly  crawled  to  his  feet,  and 
stood  shaking  like  one  with  a  palsy.  His 
lips  were  ashen,  and  his  eyes  burned  with 
the  fever  of  fear.  He  put  out  an  unsteady 
hand  as  D'Arcy  came  up.  "My  God, 
man, ' '  he  mumbled, '  'you've  saved  my  life. " 

"The  rascal  had  a  strong  wrist,  but  he 
was  a  novice,"  said  D'Arcy,  supporting 
Blunt  while  he  unscrewed  a  flask  and  put 
the  brandy  to  his  lips.  Then  he  added : 
"It  was  a  very  pretty  fight.  " 
37 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Pretty  fight  be  damned!"  ejaculated 
the  other.     "It  was  abominable." 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  acquiesced 
D'Arcy,  and  he  drained  the  remainder  of 
the  potent  liquid  himself.  "And  now 
let's  look  about  us." 

They  found  the  once  nimble  guard 
sprawling  forward  on  the  top  of  the 
coach,  quite  dead ;  under  the  feet  of  the 
frightened  leaders  lay  Kit  Darrell;  the 
guard  had  brought  him  down  the  first 
shot.  Of  Bill  Mace,  the  driver,  they 
could  find  no  trace,  though  they  beat 
about  the  road  on  either  side  for  yards, 
and  made  the  night  echo  with  their 
halloas. 

"It's  a  good  riddance  of  the  rascal," 
said  Blunt,  at  last. 

"Which  means  that  I  must  tool  the 
hearse  into  London,"  answered  D'Arcy, 
comically.  And  he  did,  with  Blunt  sit- 
ting beside  him  on  the  box. 

The  towers  of  the  city  were  toning  three 
as  they  swung  through  the  deserted 
streets,  and  the  far-away  cry  of  the  watch 
on  its  round  echoed  "All's  well!"  which 
was  right,  save  for  the  dead  guard  lurch- 


TWO  in  a  COACH 

ing  backward  and  forward  inside  the 
coach,  and  Dick  Conyngham  and  his  pal 
lying  out  on  the  heath  miles  away. 

As  for  Major  John  Gerald  D'Arcy,  the 
little  adventure  of  the  night,  all  unknown 
to  him,  had  changed  the  current  of  his 
life. 


CHAPTER    IV 

AN   INVITATION   TO   SUPPER 

The  London  sun  had  risen,  hnng  high 
over  the  city,  and  was  well  on  its  descent 
before  D'Arcy  awoke  the  following  day,  in 
his  father 's  house,  and  rang  for  his  serv- 
ant. That  worthy  appeared  immediately, 
evidently  being  in  wait  for  the  summons, 
his  face  lighted  with  a  grin  of  welcome. 

"Tim,  you  rascal,"  cried  D'Arcy, 
springing  up,  "why  didn't  you  call  me? 
The  day's  gone." 

"Faith,  Master  Jack,  I  was  waiting  for 
you  to  call  me,"  answered  Tim,  echoing 
his  master's  brogue. 

"Well,  get  me  dressed  and  shaved  at 
once,  ye  spalpeen.  Do  you  want  me  to 
lose  a  whole  day  out  of  my  life?"  And 
in  a  moment  master  and  man  were  inex- 
tricably mixed  in  the  mysteries  of  a 
dandy's  toilet.  For  D'Arcy  was  a  dandy, 
and  few  men  of  fashion  in  the  town 
equaled  him  in  his  finery,  and  no  valet 
41 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

compared  with  Tim,  to  whom  the  chief 
savor  of  life  came  from  boasting,  at  the 
coffee  house  and  footman 's  club,  where  he 
was  a  privileged  member,  of  D'Arcy's 
pre-eminence  among  the  London  gallants. 

The  operation  once  over,  the  guards- 
man, exquisitely  powdered  and  patched, 
and  wrapped  in  the  most  gorgeous  of 
brocaded  dressing-gowns,  sipped  his  dish 
of  chocolate  and  fingered  a  pile  of  accumu- 
lated notes,  bills  and  letters  that  were 
spread  before  him. 

"Are  my  father  and  mother  well, 
Tim?"  he  asked. 

"Very,  sir.  And  his  lordship  and  my 
lady  are  very  anxious  to  see  you." 

"Take  my  compliments  to  Lady 
D'Arcy,  and  say  that  I  shall  pay  my 
respects  to  her  in  half  an  hour." 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  was  departing  on  his  errand,  when  a 
tap  at  the  door  halted  him. 

"What  is  it?"  questioned  D'Arcy. 

There  was  whispering  through  the  door- 
crack  between  a  footman  and  Tim. 

"It's  Captain  Gregory  is  below  wanting 
to  see  you,  sir,"  said  the  latter. 
42 


An  INVITATION  to  SUPPER 

"Tell  the  blockhead  to  show  him  up  at 
once." 

"Ye  blockhead,  show  him  up  at  once," 
said  Tim  loudly  after  the  departing 
flunkey,  and  then  he  left  the  room  with 
his  own  messages. 

At  the  sound  of  footsteps  along  the 
passage,  D'Arcy  tlirew  down  a  half -read 
letter  and  rushed  to  the  door.  There  was 
a  welcome  in  his  eyes  that  shone  for  few, 
and  he  grasped  the  huge  red-coated  figure 
that  entered  a  moment  later,  in  a  pressure 
of  arms  that  made  the  other  wince. 
"Greg,  me  boy,  you're  a  joy  to  me 
sight,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Unhand  me,  you  ruffian,"  gasped 
Gregory,  struggling. 

"May  I  ask  where  you  come  from?" 
laughed  the  Irishman,  holding  him  off  at 
arm's  length. 

"You  may,  but  you'll  get  no  satisfac- 
tion till  you  answer  the  same  question 
about  yourself." 

"Just  from  the  hands  of  Tim," 
answered  D'Arcy,  sparkling. 

"I  can  see  that,"  sniffed  Gregory,  tap- 
ping his  snuff-box  and   taking  a  pinch. 
43 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"You've  powder  enough  in  your  hair  for  a 
battalion,  and  you're  patched  like  Peg 
Woffington." 

Gregory's  own  hair  needed  little  to 
whiten  it,  and  as  for  patches,  they  would 
have  looked  like  milestones,  on  his  red, 
wrinkled  visage. 

"You're  a  man  of  no  taste,  Captain 
Gregory.  I  refer  you  to  Tim,  if  you'd 
know  half  me  beauties,"  laughed  D'Arcy. 

"You're  a  damnable  coxcomb,"  said 
the  other. 

"Well,  you're  lucky  to  be  able  to  call 
names  at  me  here  this  morning." 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  asked  Gregory; 
"not  more  of  your  cursed  folly?" 

"I  crossed  swords  with  a  gentleman  last 
night, "  said  D  'Arcy. 

"  What!"  cried  Gregory. 

And  the  story  was  told,  with  a  touch 
of  humor  to  relieve  its  ghastliness,  and  a 
listener  who  sat  agape. 

"And  who  was  Blunt?"  he  asked,  at  the 
conclusion. 

"A  man  of  mystery." 

"And  where  did  he  go?" 

"He  was  met  at  the  'Bell  and  Crown,' 
44 


An  INVITATION  to  SUPPER 

when  we  drew  up,  by  a  couple  of  servants 
and  disappeared." 

"Didn't  you  ask  who  he  was?"  ques- 
tioned Gregory. 

"I  was  too  sleepy  to  care." 

"You're  beautiful,"  said  the  captain, 
in  querulous  disgust. 

"Thank  you,"  laughed  D'Arcy.  "I 
knew  you'd  come  around." 

"It  sounds  like  a  chap-book  story." 

"I'd  swear  it  was  a  dream  if  it  wasn't 
for  this."  And  D'Arcy,  taking  down  a 
cloak,  showed  where  Gerdor's  bullet  had 
clipped  its  way.  "And  this,"  he  added, 
handing  Gregory  the  stained  blade. 

"You  saved  Blunt 's  life,"  cried 
Gregory. 

"And  the  other  rascal's  soul,  Greg." 

"Well,  you  almost  take  the  life  out  of 
my  news,"  said  the  other. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  D'Arcy,  eagerly. 

"Not — not "  he  faltered,  as  his  friend 

drew  a  paper  from  his  coat. 

"Yes,  Jack,  it's  come  at  last.  Read 
that." 

D'Arcy  had  eagerly  grasped  the 
"Gazette,"  and  read  with  breaking  voice: 
45 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Captain  Charles  Gregory,  surgeon  of  the 
1st  battalion  of  Foot  Guards,  has  been 
ordered  on  active  duty  to  the  colonies  in 
America." 

"Oh,  Greg,  1  am  glad,"  he  cried, 
almost  choking,  "but  I  wish  I  were  going 
too." 

"I'll  not  go  unless  you  do,  lad,"  said 
Gregory,  quietly. 

"Are  you  mad,  Greg?"  said  D'Arcy, 
staring. 

"No — angry,"  answered  the  older  man, 
sniffing  huge  quantities  of  the  contents  of 
his  little  box. 

"My  father  and  I  can  never  allow  it," 
replied  D'Arcy,  quickly. 

"Since  when  have  my  Lord  D'Arcy  and 
Major  D'Arcy  assumed  control  of  my 
actions?" 

"Listen,  Greg,"  said  the  young  soldier, 
pleadingly. 

"Listen  yourself,"  snapped  the  doctor, 
visibly  ruffled,  and  he  went  on  before 
D'Arcy  could  protest  further:  "I  have 
served  in  the  British  army  thirty  odd 
years.  I  was  at  Minden  sixteen  years  ago, 
where  your  father  was  chief  aide  on  Lord 
46 


An  INVITATION  to  SUPPER 

Granby's  staff,  and  I  saved  his  life,  if  I 
couldn't  save  his  arm,  that  day.  You 
were  a  lad  then,  but  you  were  a  man  later 
when  I  went  to  Quebec  with  Wolfe.  For 
the  past  two  years,  you  and  I  have  been 
together,  Jack,  doing  our  best  for  a  foolish 
king  and  his  mad  ministers,  and  now,  if 
after  all  you've  suffered  they  have  no  place 
for  you  at  the  front,  they  will  have  one 
more  vacancy  to  fill;  for  I'll  quit  the 
service. " 

"You're  a  dear  old  Greg,"  said  D'Arcy, 
taking  his  friend's  hand,  "but  I  never 
could  allow  any  such  sacrifice." 

' ' Sacrifice ! ' '  ejaculated  Gregory .  "Why, 
boy,  there  would  be  no  pleasure  for  me 
out  there  without  you." 

"We'll  speak  with  my  father  about  it. 
I  haven't  seen  him  yet;  he  may  have 
news." 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Jack.  It's  about 
town,  that  the  war  office  is  down  on  you, 
and  I  believe  it's  so." 

"It's  not  the  war  office.  It's  that 
cursed  young  beast   and  his   cursed  old 

protector,  the  Marquis  of    G ,"  said 

D'Arcy,  angrily. 

47 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

"You're  right;  they're  at  the  bottom 
of  it." 

"Faith,  I  wish  they  were  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pit,"  rejoined  the  young  man. 

"Oh,  why  will  you  mix  in  silly  quarrels, 
lad?"  groaned  the  doctor. 

"And  would  you  have  had  me  put  up 
with  the  young  blackguard's  insults?" 

"You  should  have  caned  him." 

"He  needed  a  little  blood-letting," 
answered  D'Arcy.  "I'm  sorry  I  let  him 
off  so  easily,  now." 

"You're  your  father's  own  son,"  sighed 
Gregory. 

"You  compliment  my  mother,"  laughed 
D'Arcy.  "Come,"  he  added,  "we'll  go 
to  the  old  gentleman."  Throwing  off  his 
gown,  he  adjusted  his  coat  and  ruffles 
before  a  mirror — to  the  scoffing  of 
Gregory,  whose  own  frills  were  of  the 
simplest — and  a  few  moments  later  they 
were  making  their  way  to  the  apartments 
of  Lord  D'Arcy. 

They  found  the  old  lord  in  the  book- 
room  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  from 
which  he  emerged,  pipe  in  hand,  to  give 
them  a  boisterous  welcome. 
48 


An  INVITATION  to  SUPPER 

"Ye  rogues,"  he  cried,  "you're  a 
long  time  reporting  to  your  superior 
officer." 

"The  fine  gentleman  was  at  his  curling 
irons,"  laughed  Gregory. 

"That  I  should  ever  have  fathered  a 
fop, ' '  said  my  lord,  winking  slyly  at  his 
old  comrade. 

"Greg  says  I'm  my  father's  own  son." 

"And  so  he  is,"  asserted  Gregory. 

"You're  libelous,  Captain  Gregory," 
shouted  the  old  gentleman. 

"He  was  known  all  over  town  as  the 
Irish  dandy,  Jack,"  answered  the  doctor. 
And  they  all  roared,  while  Lord  D'Arcy, 
to  cover  his  confusion,  had  recourse  to  the 
decanter,  from  which  he  filled  glasses  for 
them  all,  and  they  drank  merrily.  After- 
wards there  was  hot  discussion  and  argu- 
ment over  Gregory's  late  orders;  father 
and  son  bullying  their  old  friend  till  he 
was  stamping  about  the  room  in  a  rage. 
The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  a  footman. 

"What  is  it?"  asks  my  lord. 

"A  note  from  the  Marquis  of  G , 

my  lord,"  said  the  man. 
49 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"From  whom?"  cried  both  D'Arcys  in 
the  same  breath,  springing  to  their  feet. 

"From    the    Marquis    of    G ,    my 

lord,  and  a  reply  is  wanted. " 

Lord  D  'Arcy  had  broken  the  wax  and 
was  reading  eagerly  by  this  time,  Jack 
and  the  doctor  looking  on  in  wonder. 

"What  is  it,  father?"  questioned  the 
young  man. 

"Take  it.  What  do  you  make  of  it 
yourself?" 

D'Arcy    read    aloud:    "The     Marquis 

of   G presents    his   compliments    to 

Lord  and  Major  D'Arcy,  and  begs  the 
pleasure  of  their  company  to  supper  on 
Thursday  night." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Gregory. 

"Every  word,"  said  my  lord. 

"He's  damned  impertinent,"  said 
Jack. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  my  son.  Say 
no  answer,  James. ' ' 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  and  the  footman  was 
taking  leave ;  but  Gregory  barred  the  way. 

"Are  you  two  in  your  right  minds?"  he 
cried.  "You've  both  been  berating  me 
over  a  mere  difference  of  opinion ;  but  can 
50 


An  INVITATION  to  SUPPER 

there  be  any  difference  of  opinion  here? 
Who  is  it  has  been  blocking  your  path  at 
every  step?  Who  is  it  has  the  power  to 
remove  every  obstacle  to  your  happiness, 
and  send  Jack  back  to  his  regiment?    It's 

the  Marquis  of  G .     This  invitation  is 

Heaven  sent,  and  only  God  knows  why. 
Would  you  cast  it  back  in  his  face?" 

"You  speak  sense — on  occasion,  Greg," 
said  the  old  lord,  wavering. 

"I'll  not  go,"  said  Jack,  sullenly. 

"You  shall,"  said  Gregory,  "or  I  resign 
my  commission  this  very  day. " 

"He  is  right,  Jack ;  we  must  pocket  our 
pride,"  said  the  old  man.  "Wait, 
James."  And  sitting  down,  LordD'Arcy 
wrote  an  acceptance  to  "the  Marquis  of 

G 's     courteous     invitation,"    which 

Gregory  approved,  and  it  was  sent  off 
much  against  the  advice  of  the  hot-headed 
Major,  who  tried  his  best  to  thrust  aside 
the  great  opportunity  that  Chance  had 
poked  under  his  nose. 


51 


CHAPTER  V 

MY    LORD   AND    MAJOR  D'ARCY    SUP  OUT 

The  mysterious  summons  to  sup  with 
the  Marquis  of  G caused  much  specu- 
lation in  the  house  of  D'Arcy,  and  yet 
before  the  Thursday  arrived  Gregory  had 
convinced  even  Jack  that  it  would  have 
been  absurd  to  refuse  the  invitation.  He 
had  been  tremendously  aided  in  this  by 
dear  little  Lady  D'Arcy,  whose  influence 
with  her  two  hot-heads,  as  she  called  the 
old  lord  and  Jack,  was  ridiculously  out  of 
proportion  with  the  diminutive  size  of  the 
lady  herself.  She  had  the  permanent  head 
of  the  family — which  was  fortunate,  for 
Lord  D'Arcy  and  his  son  were  constantly 
losing  theirs — and  in  all  crises  assumed 
directorship,  though  my  lord  stormed  and 
the  Major  faintly  rebelled.  It  was  a 
united  family,  though,  when  Thursday 
night  came  and  the  little  directress  with  a 
trembling  heart  gave  them  "God  speed" 
as  they  drove  off  in  the  chariot. 
53 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

The  Marquis  of  G was  a  somewhat 

mysterious  nobleman.  The  head  of  one 
of  the  most  powerful  Tory  families  in  the 
kingdom,  he  had  not  been  actively  en- 
gaged in  politics  since  his  youth,  and  yet 
there  was  no  more  potent  influence  at 
Windsor  or  in  Downing  street  than  his. 
The  secret  of  it  was  not  known,  but  its 
existence  was  never  questioned  by  mem- 
bers of  either  party,  and  even  such  active 
upholders  of  the  opposition  as  Mr.  Fox, 
Mr.  Burke  and  Mr.  Pitt  acknowledged  his 
power,  while  they  recognized  the  futility 
of  grappling  with  anything  that  seemed  so 
impalpable.  He  was  seldom  seen  about 
the  town,  confining  his  sociability  to  a 
small  circle  of  intimates,  and  to  the 
younger  generation  of  Londoners  his  face 
was  unknown.  Years  before,  when  White'3 
was  at  its  height,  he  and  Lord  D'Arcy — 
both  young  gallants  of  the  town — had  an 
unfortunate  rencontre,  over  a  matter  that 
did  little  credit  to  either  of  them,  and  the 
Irishman  had  not  come  off  second  best. 
They  had  never  met  since,  and  it  was  with 
rather  mixed  feelings  that  the  Lord 
D'Arcy  alighted  at  his  old-time  antag- 
54 


My  LORD  and  D'ARCY  SUP  OUT 

onist's  door,  in  Great  Portland  street. 
They  were  much  behind  the  hour — they 
were  bidden  for  eleven — and  the  latest  of 
the  guests;  for  the  street  was  already 
filled  with  chariots,  sedans,  and  hackney 
coaches,  while  the  loud  talk  of  lounging 
coachmen,  footmen  and  chairmen  showed 
that  their  masters  had  been  long  inside. 

As  they  entered  the  long,  brilliant  draw- 
ing-room, the  first  of  the  evening's  several 
curious  incidents — as  D'Arcy,  looking 
back,  remembered — took  place.  The 
hum  of  talk  subsided  as  the  powdered, 
pompous  lackey  announced:  "My  Lord 
D'Arcy,  Major  D'Arcy,"  and,  from  the 
brilliant  group  of  men,  one  came  quickly 
toward  them,  who  held  his  arm  in  a  silken 
sling.     It  was  the  young  nephew  of  the 

Marquis  of   G ;  the  same    who  had 

crossed  swords  so  unfortunately  with 
D'Arcy  six  months  before.  With  a 
slight  trace  of  awkwardness  and  restraint, 
he  bade  them  welcome — the  company 
watching  covertly — saying  that  his  uncle 
had  been  unexpectedly  detained,  and  had 
deputed  him  to  receive  the  guests.  Lord 
D'Arcy  was  very  gracious,  and  the  Major 
55 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

was  so  simple  and  jolly  that  what  might 
have  been  a  bad  minnte  was  passed 
over  charmingly.  No  introductions  were 
needed,  and  goon  the  old  Irishman  was  in 
the  midst  of  old  cronies  exchanging  snuff 
and  gossip,  while  the  young  one  was  gaily 
chaffing  with  a  group  of  friends  and 
brother -officers. 

In  an  alcove  at  the  end,  the  card  tables 
were  set,  and  a  group  of  inveterate  gam- 
blers were  indulging  in  ombre  and  faro. 
Their  reputations  for  reckless  play  had 
drawn  a  large  group  of  on-lookers,  and 
the  Major  found  himself  leaning  over  one 
of  the  tables,  where  the  play  was  heaviest, 
an  interested  spectator.  So  interested 
that  it  was  only  suddenly  he  became 
conscious,  that  the  buzz  of  voices  in  the 
rooms  had  ceased.  He  looked  up  quickly, 
and  saw  his  father  advancing  beside  a  man 
nearly  as  tall  as  the  old  lord  himself,  and 
whose  face  had  the  fascination  of  famili- 
arity. A  step  further  toward  him,  and 
recognition  brought  the  whole  weird  scene 
before  his  eyes:  the  inky  night,  the 
glimmer  of  the  dim  lamp,  the  shivering 
horses,  and  an  old  man  with  his  back 
56 


My  LORD  and  D'ARCY  SUP  OUT 

braced  against  the  coach-panels,  fighting 
for  his  life.  "Blunt!"  he  cried,  rushing 
toward  them. 

"Blunt?"  said  his  father,  stepping  back 
in  amazement,  for  he  had  heard  the  tale  a 
dozen  times. 

"Major  D'Arcy,  allow  me  to  present  my 

uncle,    the    Marquis     of     G , "     his 

nephew  was  saying. 

"Good  God!"  ejaculated  D'Arcy,  "are 
you  the  Marquis  of  G ?" 

"Good  God,  are  you  Blunt?"  cried  the 
old  Irishman,  looking  from  the  Marquis 
to  his  son  in  a  stupefied  way  that  set  the 
crowd  shouting. 

"I  was  traveling  incog,"  said  the  old 
nobleman,  grasping  D'Arcy's  hand. 
"This  young  gentleman  wouldn't  have 
given  me  a  lift  if  he  had  known  who  I 
was,"  he  added,  his  shrewd  eyes  twinkling, 
in  anticipation  of  the  youngster's  embar- 
rassment. 

"I  should  have  given  you  a  lift,  my 
lord,"  answered  Jack  quickly,  with  a 
laugh,  "but  I  should  have  left  you  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  gentleman  we  met 
on  the  road  afterwards. " 
57 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"You're  a  worthy  son  of  old  Jack, "  said 
the  Marquis  gaily,  wringing  the  young 
man's  hand  again,  and  pleased  at  his  bold- 
ness. "Come,  you  dullards,"  he  cried, 
going  up  to  the  gamesters.  "Do  yon  think 
I  asked  you  here  to  loot  one  another's 
purses?"  And  he  unceremoniously  swept 
cards  and  stakes  off  on  to  the  floor. 
"To  supper,"  he  said,  turning  to  the 
company;  and  leading  ^the  way  with 
Lord  D'Arcy  on  his  right  arm  and 
Jack  on  his  left,  they  entered  the  dining- 
room. 

It  was  a  brilliant  throng  that  sat  at 
table:  the  choice  of  London's  fashion, 
wit,  and  powerful;  and  their  host's  enter- 
tainment was  worthy  of  them  and  of  him. 
The  crackle  of  jests  was  incessant,  and 
but  served  to  whet  the  appetite  for  the 
good  talk  that  followed.  Gossip  slipped 
up  on  one  side  of  the  table  and  down  the 
other;  the  war  in  the  colonies  was  dis- 
cussed, and  the  vicious  attitude  of  France ; 
the  ministry  was  criticised,  and  Mr. 
George  Washington  with  his  tatterde- 
malion forces  was  riddled  with  witty  ridi- 
cule; the  punch-bowl  was  emptied  and 
58 


My  LORD  and  D'ARCY  SUP  OUT 

refilled  and   emptied  again,   and  useless 
bottles  multiplied  apace. 

There  were  few,  if  any,  of  the  guests 
who  knew  of  D'Arcy's  and  the  Marquis  of 

G 's  adventure  in  the  coach,  and  all, 

who  had  seen  the  young  soldier  rush  for- 
ward and  greet  his  host  as  "Blunt,"  were 
puzzled,  though  they  all  laughed  at  Jack's 
unfeigned  consternation  and  Lord  D'Arcy's 
astonishment.  It  was  not  till  after,  when 
pipe-bowls  were  aglow,  and  the  serious 
work  of  digestion  had  begun,  that  any 
explanation  was  forthcoming.  The  old 
Marquis  had  risen  from  his  seat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  waiting  a  moment 
for  silence,  raised  his  glass  and  said: 
"Gentlemen,  I  give  you  His  Majesty, 
King  George."  Every  man  was  on  his 
feet  in  an  instant  and  drained  the  toast. 
"And  now,"  added  my  Lord  Marquis,  "I 
have  one  other  toast."  He  leaned  for- 
ward on  the  table,  and  his  piercing  eyes 
traveled  down  the  long  board  till  they 
rested  on  his  nephew  standing  at  the 
other  end.  "It  needs  some  explanation," 
he  said,  "and  though  I  fear  to  weary 
yon,  it  gives  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to 
59 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

give  it.  For  some  years  my  family,  and 
that  of  one  of  my  guests  to-night  have 
been  on  terms  of  very  cordial  enmity. 
Within  the  year,  the  youngsters  of  both 
houses  have  seen  fit  to  add  fuel  to  the  fire 
of  the  old  feud,  and  it  seemed  likely'  to 
mix  us  all  in  a  very  pretty  quarrel. "  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  his  cold  little 
smile  hovered  over  the  faces  of  his  per- 
plexed guests,  who  were  wondering  if  the 
old  nobleman  had  gone  daft.  "Fortu- 
nately, "  he  continued,  "any  such  issue  has 
been  averted.  A  few  nights  ago,  I  stood 
in  direst  peril  of  my  life,  and  in  the  very 
last  moment  of  respite,  I  was  saved  by  the 
courage  and  skill  of  the  young  gentleman, 
who  had  been  using  both  against  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  I  understand  on  the 
very  highest  authority  that  this  young 
gentleman  is  leaving  shortly  to  join  his 
regiment  in  the  colonies,  and  I  want  to 
thank  him  publicly  in  this  manner  be- 
fore he  is  out  of  my  reach.  I  give 
you,  gentlemen,  Major  John  Gerald 
D'Arcy." 

There  was  a  cry  of  "D'Arcy,  D'Arcy," 
from  all  over  the  room,  and  the  young 
60 


My  LORD  and  D'ARCY  SUP  OUT 

Irishman  could  have  slipped  through  the 
floor.  His  head  was  reeling,  and  he 
could  only  grasp  the  hand  of  his  new 
friend  and  murmur:  "You  are  too 
good  to  me,  my  lord,  you  are  too  good 
to  me." 

"I  can  never  repay  the  debt  I  owe 
you,"  said  the  old  Marquis,  simply,  and 
his  voice  quavered.  The  next  moment 
they  were  surrounded.  The  story  of  Dick 
Conyngham's  luckless  attack  was  told 
once  more,  and  it  was  the  excuse  for  a 
seeming  bottomless  punch-bowl.  The 
night  grew  riotous,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
sun,  streaming  in  through  the  curtain- 
guarded  windows,  put  to  shame  the  feeble 
yellow  of  the  guttering  candles  that  the 
company  broke  up. 

The  "Gazette,"  the  next  day,  announced 
that  "Major  John  Gerald  D'Arcy,  of  the 
Grenadier  Guards,  having  completely 
recovered  from  his  severe  wound  received 
in  the  action  at  White  Plains,  New  York, 
has  been  assigned  to  active  duty  on  the 
staff  of  General,  Lord  Cornwallis."  It 
was  less  than  a  fortnight  after,  that 
D'Arcy  and  Gregory  set  sail  in  the  trans- 
61 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

port  "Aurore,"  bound  for  the  seat  of  war 
in  the  rebellious  colonies.  A  mysterious 
Marquis  can  accomplish  many  things  if  he 
has  a  mind  to. 


63 


CHAPTER   VI 

A    CONTINENTAL   DRAGOON 

The  same  old  whimsical  Chance  that 
meddles  in  the  smaller  affairs  of  men, 
twisting  and  untwisting  the  courses  of 
their  lives,  is  equally  fond  of  mixing  in 
their  larger  destinies.  It  had  laid  a  heavy 
and  ironic  hand  on  the  little  colonial  town 
of  Philadelphia,  in  Pennsylvania,  at  the 
very  beginning  of  the  revolutionary  strug- 
gle; whirling  it  into  the  storm  center  of 
the  revolting  colonies,  hopelessly  dividing 
its  staid  citizens  against  one  another,  and 
making  its  cognomen — the  City  of 
Brotherly  Love — a  mockery  in  the  mouths 
of  men. 

The  loyal  subjects  of  good  and 
wise  King  George — for  the  most  part, 
thrifty  Quakers  and  holders  of  lucrative 
office  under  the  crown — looked  on  with 
dismay  at  the  wild  excesses  of  their  fellow 
townsmen,  culminating  in  the  demagogic 
Declaration  of  Independence,  and  pre- 
63 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

dieted  the  full  and  devastating  wrath  of 
the  Gods.  The  mill  of  those  revengeful 
Deities  seemed  to  be  grinding  faster  and 
finer  than  was  its  usual  wont,  in  seeming 
verification  of  the  prophecy,  when  that 
presumptuous  mortal,  George  Washington, 
swooped  down  on  the  carousing  Hessians 
at  Trenton,  and  for  the  moment  threw  the 
machinery  out   of    gear. 

It  took  long  winter  and  spring  months 
to  repair  the  damage ;  Lord  Cornwallis,  on 
the  very  point  of  taking  passage  for  home, 
was  hastily  recalled,  to  chastise  the  unheard 
of  audacity  of  the  rebels,  and  in  the  course 
of  events  got  rather  the  worst  of  it.  The 
Philadelphia  rabble  and  that  traitorous 
assembly,  the  so-called  Continental  Con- 
gress, led  on  by  such  arch-traitors  as  John 
Adams,  Thomas  Jefferson,  Morris,  Ran- 
dolph, and  others  of  the  same  ilk,  took 
heart  once  more,  and  while  they  grew  more 
violent  and  seditious  day  by  day,  even 
dared  to  lay  hands  on  the  loyalists, 
who  still  gloried  in  their  allegiance  to 
King  George. 

But  the  summer  was  passing  and  retri- 
bution was  at  hand.  Sir  William  Howe, 
64 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

with  a  picked  army  of  seventeen  or  eight- 
een thousand  men,  had  set  out  from  New 
York  to  redeem  the  benighted  town  from 
the  clutches  of  His  Majesty's  enemies. 
The  loyalists  were  once  more  jubilant,  and 
now  it  was  the  turn  of  the  rebellious  seced- 
ers  to  take  their  place  on  the  anxious  seat. 
None  among  them  occupied  it  more 
restlessly  than  the  little  Towneshend 
household,  whose  fortunes  for  the  next 
five  months  are  inextricably  bound  up  in 
this  Tale. 

The  Towneshend  family  held  high  place 
in  old  Colonial  Philadelphia.  The  head 
of  the  house,  Benjamin  Towneshend,  the 
youngest  son  of  a  youngest  son,  forced 
into  expatriation  by  the  resistless  English 
law  of  primogeniture,  had  settled  on  the 
hospitable  banks  of  the  Schuylkill  and 
drifted  into  the  channels  of  trade.  In- 
dustry, acuteness  and  the  West  Indies  had 
brought  him  a  liberal  fortune,  while 
breeding  and  good  looks  fetched  a  charm- 
ing wife,  and  later  came  two  wonderful  chil- 
dren. Success  smiled  upon  him  before 
the  young  blood  in  man  and  wife  had  run 
its  course,  and  while  they  still  could  enjoy 
65 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

its  bounty.  The  marvelous  stone  house, 
the  wonder  of  the  country-side  at  the 
time,  was  built,  and  the  ornate  gardens, 
after  the  dear  old  English  style,  were  laid 
out  with  hedges  of  box  and  clipped  yew. 
It  became  one  of  the  very  few  centers  of 
gaiety  in  the  prim  little  commonwealth. 

The  daughter  was  one  of  the  beauties 
of  the  town,  and  no  lovelier  penitent 
stepped  from  chariot  every  Sunday  and 
marched  up  the  aisle  of  Christ  Church, 
nor  gayer,  sprightlier  maid  danced  minuet 
at  the  assemblies,  than  Pamela  Towne- 
shend.  She  was  a  great  housewife  too,  and 
something  of  a  hoyden  besides,  if  neigh- 
bors' reports  were  to  be  believed,  for  she 
rode  as  dashingly  as  her  brother  Edward, 
and  was  his  companion  and  equal  on  many 
a  shooting  and  fishing  trip  about  the 
country.  All  of  which  filled  her  father 's 
heart  with  pride,  and  turned  the  heads  of 
half  the  youngsters  in  the  colony. 

Then  came  the  journey  to  London, 
where  the  youngest  of  the  youngest  met 
the  eldest  of  the  eldest,  a  man  of  fashion 
and  title,  who  was  very  glad  to  know  his 
wealthy  colonial  relative  and  his  "Indian 
66 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

children,"  as  he  jokingly  called  Pamela 
and  her  brother. 

A  gay  season  followed,  during  which  the 
fluttering  mamma  feared  and  trembled  for 
her  daughter,  who  became  one  of  the  belles 
at  Tunbridge,  and  even  had  the  supreme 
honor  of  a  compliment  and  toast  from 
the  incomparable  Beau  Beamish  himself. 

But  the  gladness  of  it  all  was  terribly 
eclipsed  by  the  sudden  illness  and  death  of 
the  father,  and  it  was  then  that  Pamela 
showed  first  what  burdens  her  young 
shoulders  were  capable  of  bearing.  Ed- 
ward was  but  a  lad  of  nineteen,  she  four 
years  his  senior,  and  her  mother,  wilting 
like  a  stricken  flower,  looked  to  her  for 
help  and  guidance.  It  was  a  sad  home- 
going,  and  the  big  house  seemed  blighted 
by  the  family's  trouble.  Pamela  was 
equal  to  it  all,  however;  she  changed 
places  with  her  mother,  who  faded  into  a 
heartbroken  invalid,  and  took  up  the 
household  reins  with  a  firm  hand.  With 
the  invaluable  help  of  their  neighbor  and 
her  father's  old  friend,  the  Quaker,  Sam- 
uel Davis,  the  many  business  interests 
were  straightened  out;  and  her  cousin, 
67 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUAEDS 

Cynthia  Deane,  coming  to  live  with  them, 
brought  a  ray  of  sunshine  into  the  big 
house,  and  something  more  to  young 
Edward. 

Two  years  slipped  by,  and  the  cloud  of 
grief  was  only  just  lifting,  when  signs  of 
the  coming  political  storm  grew  ominous ; 
and  a  year  later  the  storm  broke  in  all  its 
fury,  carrying  Edward,  his  sister's  joy  and 
his  cousin  Cynthia's  sweetheart,  off  in  the 
maelstrom.  He  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
City  Troop,  an  eager,  gallant,  patriotic  lad, 
and  in  spite  of  the  protests  of  their  Tory 
neighbor,  Davis,  his  mother  and  the  girls 
bade  him  go  with  an  heroic  joyfulness. 
And  he  journeyed  to  the  camp  of  His 
Excellency,  General  George  Washington, 
with  a  present  of  a  thousand  golden 
guineas  for  the  cause.  His  gallantry  at 
the  disastrous  battle  of  Long  Island 
brought  him  promotion,  and  later,  after 
that  terrible  Christmas  night,  crossing  the 
Delaware,  he  was  honored  by  a  position  on 
the  staff  of  the  Commander-in-Chief. 

His  fervent  letters  to  the  little  household 
kept  their  spirits  high,  and  their  hearts 
firm ;  much  needed  stimulants  were  they, 
68 


A  CONTINENTAL  MIAGOON 

as  the  days  grew  dark  and  calamity  threat- 
ened. It  was  late  in  August,  '77,  that  the 
rebel  army  marched  through  Philadelphia 
on  its  way  to  meet  the  British,  then 
dropping  anchor  in  Delaware  Bay.  The 
devoted  women  had  a  hurried  glimpse  of 
their  boy,  who  snatched  an  hour  to  be 
with  them,  and  then  he  was  gone  again, 
while  for  them  was  the  harder  task  of 
waiting,  waiting,  waiting.  On  the  12th  of 
September  came  the  news  of  Washington's 
defeat  the  day  before,  at  the  Brandy  wine. 
The  town  was  in  an  uproar;  Congress 
bundled  up  its  records  and  fled  to  Lan- 
caster ;  the  streets  Were  full  of  timid  pa- 
triots flying  they  knew  not  where,  and  the 
loyal  Tories  were  exultant,  openly  at  last. 
No  word  came  from  the  young  aid- 
de-camp  at  the  front;  and  as  the  days 
passed,  sickening  dread  took  full  possession 
of  the  house;  Pamela  alone  bearing  up 
and  refusing  to  give  in  to  the  horrible  fore- 
boding. A  fortnight  passed.  It  was 
early  one  morning  when  Cynthia  came  from 
the  house  to  take  her  daily  last  look  at  the 
already  autumn-stricken  flowers.  There 
were  a  gallant,  sturdy  few,  that  still 
69 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

colored  the  beds,  and  to  these  she  was 
bending,  when  she  heard  a  quick  step  on 
the  path  behind  her.  She  turned,  and 
her    heart    leaped.     "Ned!"    she    cried. 

"Safe — safe "  she  would  have  fallen, 

but  he  had  her  in  his  arms ;  his  lips  were 
on  her  cheek.  "Cynthia,"  she  heard  him 
whisper,  and  she  thrilled  in  consciousness 
again,  as  he  repeated  it. 

"Did  I  frighten  you,  dear?"  he  asked, 
smiling. 

"Oh,  Ned,  we  had  given  up  hope." 

"And   Pamela  and    mother,    they  are 
well?" 

"Yes,  and  they'll  be  overjoyed  to  wel- 
come you  from "  she  faltered,  and  he 

clasped  her  to  him. 

"From  what,  sweetheart?" 

"The  dead,"  she  answered,  drooping  at 
the  memory  of  the  anxious  days. 

"Then  you've  missed  me?"  he  asked 
tenderly,  with  a  lover's  unkindness. 

"Missed  you?"  she  faltered,  and  her 
eyes  swam  as  she  drew  his  face  to  her  and 
kissed  him.  "How  I've  missed  you! 
And  the  army?"  she  asked  timidly.  "All 
is  lost?  You  have  surrendered?" 
70 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

"Surrendered!"  he  cried.  "Never. 
They've  driven  ns  back,  inch  by  inch,  but 
they've  paid  dearly  for  their  passage." 

"The  way  is  clear  for  them,  then?" 

"The  British  will  enter  Philadelphia 
this  morning,"  he  answered.  "It  is  the 
happiest  chance  that  I  am  here  to  warn 
you.  The  General  hurried  me  back  with 
important  dispatches  for  Mr.  Eeid,  one  of 
our  agents  here.  I've  been  in  the  saddle 
since  five  this  morning." 

"Poor  boy,  you  are  worn  out." 

"It  is  nothing,"  he  answered,  "if  I  can 
but  get  you  to  a  place  of  safety." 

"Don't  fear  for  us,  dear.  Pamela  will 
take  care  of  us." 

"Oh,  I  know  she  has  the  courage  of  a 
lion,"  he  said,  "but  she's  a  woman,  after 
all." 

"And  Mr.  Davis  will  be  near  at  hand," 
suggested  Cynthia. 

"A  pretty  protector!"  laughed  the 
young  soldier.  "A  Tory  Quaker,  forever 
preaching  non-resistance." 

"He  has  been  very  kind  to  us." 

"Oh,  yes,"  answered  Towneshend,  a 
look  of  impatience  crossing  his  face,  "I 
71 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

know  he  would  be  that.  But  his  kindli- 
ness will  hardly  impress  the  sensibilities  of 
a  Hessian  Yager,  or  a  British  Grenadier." 

"You  must  not  be  afraid  for  us,  Ned," 
she  cried,  bravely.  "What  harm  could 
come  to  us  here?" 

"I  can't  help  but  fear  for  you,  can  I? 
All  that's  dearest  to  me  in  the  world, 
mother,  sister,  sweetheart,  shut  up  in 
Philadelphia,  and  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  Oh,  if  Pamela  had  only  listened 
to  reason  when  I  was  here  last  month,  and 
let  me  have  moved  you  out  of  harm's 
way!" 

"You  know,  dear,  that  Aunt  Clarissa 
could  not  have  stood  any  journey,"  ven- 
tured Cynthia,  trying  to  quiet  the  boy's 
fears. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  answered. 
"Mother  is  too  delicate  for  any  change, 
which  frightens  me  all  the  more  for  her 
safety  here." 

"Oh,  my  boy,  you  are  tired  and  worried. 
Come  into  the  house  and  see  your  mother 
and  Pamela.  It  will  rest  you."  She 
took  his  arm  gently,  and  they  turned 
toward  the  house,  the  dusty,  travel- 
72 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

stained,  wearied  young  officer  leaning  on 
her  injiis  perplexity.  They  were  mount- 
ing the  steps  to  the  little  terrace,  when 
Pamela  and  her  mother  issued  from  the 
door.  Their  cheeks  blanched  at  the  sight 
of  him,  but  he  was  kissing  their  color  back 
again  before  they  could  cry  out. 

'  'It's  Ned,  mother,  it's  Ned!"  cried 
Pamela,  her  face  aglow. 

But  the  mother  knew  too  well ;  she  held 
him  in  her  frail  arms  and  wept  as  she 
murmured  brokenly,  "My  boy,  my  boy." 

They  all  turned  to  the  garden  again, 
and  there  under  the  old  trees  he  told 
them  the  disastrous  story. 

"And  the  British?"  questioned  Pamela, 
her  eyes  flashing. 

"They  will  occupy  the  town  to-day; 
they  may  be  here  at  any  moment." 

"And  you?"  she  asked. 

"You  must  thank  their  tardiness  for 
this  sight  of  me.  I  couldn't  have  stopped 
had  they  been  here. ' ' 

"Where  do  you  go  from  here?"  asked 
Cynthia. 

"To  headquarters  at  Chester.  I  don't 
know  the  General's  plans,  but  I  think 
73 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

once  Sir  William  Howe  and  Lord  Corn- 
wallis  are  arrived  in  Philadelphia,  they'll 
find  some  trouble  leaving  it.  Dear 
mother,"  he  added,  turning  to  her,  "I  am 
so  anxious  for  you  all." 

"Never  fear,  my  boy,"  she  answered, 
bravely,  "the  British  would  never  molest 
such  a  harmless  old  lady ;  and  Pamela  and 
Cynthia  will  take  good  care  of  me." 

"That  we  will,  dear  aunt,"  said  Cynthia. 

"If,  as  I  think,  the  General's  plan  is  to 
sit  down  and  watch,"  went  on  the  young 
man,  "I'll  not  be  far  away,  and  will  see 
you  often " 

"You  must  not  risk  it,  Ned,"  put  in 
his  sister. 

"No  one  knows  the  country  hereabouts 
as  I  do,  Pamela,"  he  answered,  "and  a 
hundred  different  paths  will  bring  me, 
that  the  enemy  knows  nothing  of." 

"There  are  dangers  enough  on  every 
hand  without  my  boy  seeking  new  ones," 
said  his  mother,  gently. 

"Never  fear,  dear  mother.  And 
Pamela,  neither  you  nor  Cynthia  must 
venture  out  alone." 

"Foolish  boy!"  she  answered,  "we'll 
74 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

take  care  of  ourselves.  The  British  are 
not  ogres.     They'll  not  eat  us." 

"They  had  better  not  try,"  laughed 
Cynthia,  taking  his  hand.  "You  should 
see  Pamela,  Ned,  with  the  new  pistols  you 
gave  her  before  you  went  away.  Every 
night,  when  Sambo  is  locking  up,  she 
stalks  beside  him,  a  pistol  in  either  hand, 
as  fierce  as  any  grenadier." 

"Hush,  you  silly  child,"  laughed 
Pamela. 

"I  warrant  you  she'd  use  'em  too,  on 
occasion,"  rejoined  Towneshend. 

"She  shares  with  my  boy,  her  father's 
courage,"  said  the  fond  mother. 

"She  will  join  the  army  yet,  if  we  don't 
watch  her,  aunt,"  went  on  the  teasing 
Cynthia. 

"Oh,  if  I  were  a  man "  Pamela  was 

beginning  when  Cynthia  again  broke  in: 

"Why  let  a  little  matter  of  sex  deter 
you?  You  shoot  and  ride  as  well  as  Ned 
now,  and  I've  no  doubt  you'd  soon  handle 
his  saber  better." 

The  banter  would  have  gone  on  inter- 
minably, for  their  spirits  fairly  bubbled 
over  at  the  joy  of  the  reunion,  but  inter  - 
75 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

mption  came  in  the  shape  of  a  tall  figure 
that  advanced  toward  them  from  the 
house.  He  was  upon  them  almost  before 
they  were  aware. 

"It's  Mr.  Davis,"  said  Cynthia,  who 
first  espied  him. 

"So  it  is,"  said  Towneshend,  as  the 
straight  old  Quaker  came  up. 

He  was  a  giant  in  size,  and  he  leaned  on 
a  huge  walking-stick  as  he  gave  them 
greeting.  "Good  morning,  friends,"  he 
said,  his  kindly  gray  eye  taking  in  the 
little  group  at  a  glance,  "this  is  a  family 
party  I  scarce  expected  to  find." 

"Our  boy  has  surprised  us  all  this 
morning,  friend  Davis,"  said  the  happy 
mother. 

"What  is  thee  doing  here,  Edward?" 
asked  the  old  man,  smiling  grimly. 
"Does  thee  bring  Mr.  Washington's  terms 
of  surrender?" 

"No,"  answered  Towneshend,  good 
humoredly,  "but  General  Washington  is 
at  any  time  willing  to  submit  terms  of 
surrender  to  Sir  William  Howe." 

"Is  that  so,  Edward?    Does  thee  know 
it  to  be  so?"  said  Davis,  eagerly. 
76 


A  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

"I  would  stake  my  life  on  it," 
answered  the  young  officer. 

"What  is  this,  Ned?"  questioned 
Pamela,  almost  harshly,  not  noticing  the 
twinkle  in  her  brother's  eye. 

"This  is  great  news  thee  brings,"  went 
on  the  Quaker,  "and  what  are  the  terms?" 

"I  think  the  General  would  grant  Sir 
William  the  same  terms  he  gave  General 
Rail  at  Trenton,"  said  Towneshend. 

"What  does  thee  mean?"  asked  Davis 
sharply,  his  face  coloring. 

"I  mean  that  nothing  but  the  complete 
capitulation  of  Sir  William  and  his  army 
would  satisfy  the  Commander-in-Chief," 
declared  the  young  man,  while  Pamela 
and  Cynthia  both  clapped  their  hands. 

"Art  thou  mad,  boy?"  said  the  old 
man,  knitting  his  ragged  brows. 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  Towne- 
shend, "it  is  only  a  question  of  time. 
You  had  better  come  over  to  us  before  it's 
too  late,"  he  added. 

"Never!"  said  Davis,  and  his  firm  old 
mouth  drew  tense  and  hard. 

"Well,  dear  old  friend,"  said  the  boy, 
seeing  that  he  had  gone  a  little  beyond  the 
77 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

jesting  bounds,  "we  won't  quarrel  at  this 
late  day  over  a  difference  of  opinion." 

"You'll  live  to  accept  mine,"  rejoined 
the  Quaker. 

"I  trust  not,"  answered  Towneshend, 
gravely.  "But  you  have  been  too  good 
to  me  and  mine  for  me  ever  to  forget  it. " 

"Oh,  rubbish!"  ejaculated  the  old  man, 
uncomfortably. 

"And  now,  dear  ones, "  said  the  young 
man,  glancing  at  his  watch,  "I  must  get 
to  horse.  I  've  a  long  journey  before  me. 
I  know  you'll  watch  over  them  for  me, 
Mr.  Davis." 

"I  promise  thee,  lad,  I  promise  thee," 
said  the  other,  grasping  his  hand. 

They  made  the  parting  a  gay  one,  while 
their  voices  gave  the  lie  to  the  words  of 
glad  good-bye.  And  then  he  was  gone, 
his  tall  young  figure  disappearing  through 
the  gateway,  and  the  clatter  of  his  horse's 
hoofs  striking  at  the  hearts  of  the  dear 
ones  he  left. 


78 


CHAPTER  VII 


A   FRIEND   INDEED 


The  little  group  sat  silent,  till  Davis, 
thinking  to  relieve  the  tension,  and  in 
some  small  way  detract  attention  from  his 
own  emotion,  ejaculated: 

"Drat  the  boy!  I  could  stand  it,  if  he 
were  fighting  on  the  other  side." 

His  diversion  was  a  success,  for  Pamela 
turned  on  him.  "He  is  fighting  for  the 
right." 

"Woman's  rubbish,"  said  the  old 
Quaker,  testily.  "I  am  glad  his  father 
can't  see  him  in  that  uniform." 

"His  father  would  have  been  as  proud 
of  him  as  I  am,  friend  Davis, "  answered 
Mrs.  Towneshend,  with  a  gentle  dig- 
nity. 

"No  good  can  come  of  rebellion  against 
our  rulers,"  said  the  old  man. 

"We  are  no  longer  rebels,  Mr.  Davis," 
interrupted   Cynthia,   "we  have    claimed 
freedom  for  our  own." 
79 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Aye,  claimed  it,"  said  Davis,  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff  and  smiling  at  her.  He 
had  succeeded  more  wisely  than  he  had 
planned.  His  three  gentle  friends  were 
up  in  arms  at  his  Toryism,  and  for  a 
moment  the  pain  at  parting  from  their 
boy  was  stopped.  Mrs.  Towneshend  had 
risen  and  started  slowly  toward  the  house, 
the  others  following.  At  the  steps,  Pamela 
turned  to  him  with  her  frank  smile,  and 
put  out  her  hand ;  and  he  knew  he  was 
forgiven.  The  stiff,  unbending  old  man 
liked  these  reconciliations  with  the  girl 
whom  he  loved  as  a  daughter. 

"You  must  take  lunch  with  us,  Mr. 
Davis,"  she  said. 

"Not  for  the  world,  my  dear.  I  have  a 
thousand  businesses  to  attend.  There  is 
no  offense  at  my  words,  Mrs.  Towne- 
shend?" he  asked  of  the  old  lady,  who 
stood  on  the  steps  above. 

"None,"  she  smiled  sweetly,  "old 
friends  have  privilege  of  free  speech." 

"Thee  knows  I  love  the  boy,"  said  the 
old  Quaker,  heartily. 

"I  do,"  she  said,  and  turned  once  more 
to  the  house. 

80 


A  FRIEND  INDEED 

"I  want  to  speak  with  thee  and  Cynthia 
a  moment, ' '  whispered  Davis  to  Pamela,  as 
she  moved  off. 

"I'll  be  in  in  a  moment,  mother  dear," 
called  Pamela,  as  her  mother  entered  the 
house.  "What  is  it?"  she  asked,  turning 
to  him.  "Can  Cynthia  or  I  do  anything 
for  you?" 

"Not  for  me,  Pamela,  but  for  thy- 
selves." 

"What  is  it?"  questioned  Cynthia, 
while  her  cousin  looked  at  him  with  a 
vague  fear  in  her  eyes. 

"I  greatly  fear  that  the  British  will 
take  possession  of  thy  house,"  said  the  old 
man,  deliberately. 

"Take  possession  of  our  house!"  cried 
Pamela.     "What  do  you  mean?" 

"They  will  probably  use  it  for  quarter- 
ing some  new  officers,"  said  Davis.  "I 
didn't  wish  to  alarm  thy  mother;  but  the 
house  is  so  conveniently  situated  that  it 
will  hardly  escape  requisition." 

"What  shall  we  do,  Pamela?"  ques- 
tioned Cynthia,  timidly. 

"We  shall  not  move  one  inch, ' '  answered 
her  cousin,  and  her  lithe,  strong  figure 
81 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

seemed  to  harden,  as  if  in  opposition  to  an 
attacking  British  regiment. 

"I  hardly  see  any  alternative,  my 
dear,"  said  the  old  man,  kindly.  "My 
house  is  at  thy  disposal  though,  for  as  a 
loyalist,  I  shall  not  be  interfered  with. ' ' 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Davis,  for  your 
kindness,"  said  the  girl,  "but  we  shall 
stay  here  till  we  are  driven  out.  And 
surely,  Sir  William  Howe  and  My  Lord 
Cornwallis  would  not  stoop  to  that?" 

"They  will  not  drive  thee  out,  but 
doubtless  some  officers  will  be  quartered 
here,"  rejoined  Davis. 

"So  be  it,"  answered  Pamela,  "there 
is  ample  room  for  a  whole  company  of 
officers,  and  us  besides." 

"Do  listen  to  Mr.  Davis,  Pamela," 
interrupted  Cynthia,  timidly.  "We  are 
quite  alone  and  helpless." 

"We  will  stay,"  rejoined  Pamela, 
firmly,  and  then,  with  a  smile:  "But  why 
worry  about  a  thing  till  it  happens?  The 
desirability  of  our  lodgings  may  be  entirely 
overlooked. " 

"Well,  I'm  content  if  Pamela  is,"  said 
Cynthia,  resignedly. 
82 


A  FRIEND  INDEED 

"Thou  art  a  self-willed  young  hussy," 
said  the  Quaker,  taking  snuff  violently. 

"Please  don't  call  me  names,"  said 
Pamela,  going  to  him  contritely,  "we 
are  quite  safe  here,  and  mother  is 
really  not  well  enough  to  stand  any 
change." 

"Don't  mind  my  growling,  Pamela," 
he  answered.  "I  am  only  concerned  for 
thy  welfare.     Thou  art  a  brave  lass." 

Their  talk  had  been  so  animated  and  of 
such  interest  to  them  all,  that  it  was  little 
wonder  no  one  of  them  had  heard  the 
click  of  the  gate,  at  the  far  end  of  the 
gardens ;  nor  were  they  aware  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  two  soldiers,  till  the  clank  of 
sabers  and  spurs  wheeled  all  three  around 
in  surprise.  The  intruders  were  for- 
eigners; their  fierce,  black,  upturned 
mustachios  and  gaudy  uniforms  pro- 
claimed them  Hessians  at  a  glance.  They 
came  on  with  an  offensive  swagger,  the 
moment  they  saw  they  were  under  notice. 
As  they  drew  near,  the  evident  senior 
addressed  himself  to  Davis  in  harsh, 
broken  English,  that  was  barely  intelligible 
to  the  listeners. 

83 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Are  you  the  rebel  owner  of  this 
house?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  neither  the  owner  of  this  house, 
nor  am  I  a  rebel,"  answered  the  old  man, 
quietly. 

"You  can't  escape  us,  old  shoebuckles, 
by  denying  your  colors,"  said  the  other, 
coarsely. 

"That  he  can't,"  said  the  first.  "And 
do  these  pretty  maids  belong  with  the 
house?"  His  eyes  ran  the  girls  over,  as  if 
he  were  appraising  sheep.  They  drew 
closer  together,  but  their  stare  was  so 
haughty  and  direct  that  he  dropped  his 
eyes  and  laughed  uneasily. 

"Coy,  are  you?  We'll  change  all  that 
before  long,  eh,  Millhausen?"  he  said, 
turning  to  his  companion. 

"That  will  we,  Captain,"  answered  the 
other.     "The  spoils  of  war,  eh?" 

Their  vulgarity  was  so  brutal,  and 
the  surprise  of  their  appearance  so 
sudden,  that  the  little  group  was 
dazed. 

"Come,  old  man,  we  shall  want  all  your 
keys.  I  trust  your  cellars  are  in  good 
condition,"  said  the  Captain,  and  then 
84 


A  FRIEND  INDEED 

turning  to  Millhausen,  "There'll  be  room 
for  four  of  us  here." 

"I  am  in  charge  of  this  house,"  said 
Pamela,  stepping  a  trifle  forward. 

"You,  pretty  one?"  ejaculated  the  Cap- 
tain.    "So  much  the  better." 

She  paid  no  notice  to  his  insolence,  but 
there  was  that  in  her  eyes  that  spoke  to 
them  more  plainly  than  stinging  words. 

"By  what  authority  do  you  force  your- 
self on  our  hospitality?"  she  asked. 

"You  use  big  words,  my  maid,"  said 
one. 

"By  the  authority  of  our  strong  right 
arms.  You  are  ours,"  said  the  other, 
brutally. 

"I  shall  report  your  insolence  to  Sir 
William  Howe,  and  he  will  have  you 
publicly  whipped." 

"Ha,  my  little  wildcat,"  cried  Millhau- 
sen, "I  see  we  shall  have  to  tame  you." 

"That  we  shall,"  laughed  the  Captain. 

He  made  a  step  toward  her,  and  Pamela 
involuntarily  shrank  back,  the  utter  loath- 
ing she  felt  for  the  creatures,  showing  in 
physical  retreat.  Davis,  who  had  stood 
calmly  looking  on  during  this  colloquy, 
85 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

stepped  in  front  of  the  girls,  his  massive 
figure  almost  screening  them  from  view. 

"Out  of  the  way,  you  old  fool,"  cried 
the  Hessian,  exasperated  by  the  imper- 
turbability of  the  placid  Friend. 

"I  said  I  was  not  the  owner  of  this 
house,"  said  Davis,  "but  I  am  in  a  cer- 
tain way  the  guardian  of  its  inmates. 
Pamela,"  he  said,  "thee  had  better  go 
into  the  house  with  Cynthia.  I  will  talk 
with  these  gentlemen." 

"Stand  aside,"  yelled  Millhausen,  his 
face  inflamed  with  anger.  He  rushed  at 
Davis,  thinking  to  sweep  by  him,  through 
mere  force,  but  it  was  like  charging  a 
stone  wall.  The  old  man  threw  him  back, 
and  nearly  off  his  feet.  The  girls  seemed 
paralyzed  with  fear,  and  stood  motionless. 
The  other  officer  had  stepped  quickly 
behind  them,  and  placed  himself  in  front 
of  the  door. 

"Thee  had  better  let  the  young  women 
pass,"  said  Davis,  turning  to  him. 

"I'll  spit  you  like  a  chicken,"  cried  the 
infuriated  man,  whom  he  had  thrown  off. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Davis,  give 
way,"  cried  Pamela,  fearfully. 


A  FRIEND  INDEED 

"If  thee  doesn't  put  up  thy  sword,  I'll 
take  it  from  thee,"  replied  the  Quaker. 
The  red  was  mounting  to  his  cheeks,  and 
his  fingers  gripped  the  heavy  stick  he 
carried,  as  in  a  vice. 

"Curse  his  insolence;  run  the  rebel 
through!"  yelled  the  one  at  the  door. 
No  such  encouragement  was  needed. 
With  an  oath  on  his  lips,  he  drew  his  saber 
and  sprang  at  the  old  man.  The  big  cane 
swung  dexterously  through  the  air,  there 
was  a  smash  on  the  villain's  sword-arm, 
and  his  blade  flew  in  the  air. 

"Damn  you !"  he  screamed  in  an  agony, 
clasping  his  arm  that  hung  limp;  and 
then  he  yelled  to  his  companion:  "Kill 
him,  Raab!" 

"Thee  had  better  hold  thy  distance," 
said  Davis,  keeping  them  well  in  his 
front. 

"I'll  teach  you!"  roared  the  man,  and 
was  rushing  for  him  venomously,  when  a 
loud  "halloa"  from  the  garden  gate 
arrested  him.  All  turned,  and  hurrying 
toward  them  were  two  in  the  gayest  scar- 
let. The  younger  man  as  they  approached 
doffed  his  hat  with  a  gallant  ah,  and  tak- 
87 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

ing  in  the  situation  with  laughing  eyes, 
addressed  himself  to  Pamela : 

"I  trust  you  will  pardon  this  intrusion, 
ladies.  Captain  Gregory  and  I  have  evi- 
dently interrupted  your  friends'  morning 
broadsword  exercise." 

The  brogue  was  none  but  D'Arcy's. 

"You  have  interrupted  two  villains  in 
an  infamous  attack  on  an  unarmed  old 
man  and  two  defenseless  girls,"  cried 
Pamela,  stepping  forward,  her  cheeks  and 
eyes  ablaze,  her  breast  heaving  with  heavy 
anger. 

"And  is  it  so,  my  dear  young  lady?" 
asked  D'Arcy,  gently;  he  turned  and  ran 
a  cold,  insolent  eye  up  and  down  the 
Hessian  officers,  and  then,  with  a  con- 
tempt that  even  they  could  feel,  he  re- 
marked: "Faith,  handsome  does  as 
handsome  is;  and  they're  not  much  on 
looks,  are  they,  Greg?"  He  appealed  to 
his  friend,  who  was  fidgeting  about,  know- 
ing only  too  well  what  that  mocking  voice 
meant. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Jack,"  he  whis- 
pered, "don't  pick  a  quarrel." 

"Hist,  man,"  answered  D'Arcy,  aloud, 
88 


A  FRIEND  INDEED 

"they  don't  want  to  fight,  they  only  want 
to  bully  old  men  and  ladies." 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  said  Millhau- 
sen,  furiously. 

"Major  D'Arcy,  Grenadier  Guards," 
answered  the  Irishman,  "and  I'll  thank 
you  for  just  a  trifle  more  of  civility,"  he 
added,  coldly. 

"You  be "  the  German  was  putting 

in  gruffly,  when  D'Arcy  interrupted: 

"Tut — tut,  man.  Before  ladies!"  He 
turned  to  them  courteously ;  his  deference 
was  beautiful  to  behold.  "May  I  heg  of 
you  to  withdraw?  These — "  he  hesitated, 
that  his  words  might  reach  the  proper 
ears — "these  officers  are  evidently  not 
accustomed  to  the  presence  of  your 
sex." 

"It  is  a  pity  that  His  Majesty  is  forced 
to  require  such  unpresentable  allies,"  said 
Pamela,  cuttingly. 

"Madam,"  answered  the  young  officer, 
bowing  very  low,  "I  heartily  agree  with 
you." 

The  girls  swept  him  a  courtesy,  and 
disappeared  into  the  house. 

"Damn    your    impudence!"    said    the 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

senior  of  the  Hessians.  "You  shall 
answer  to  ns  for  this." 

Davis,  who  ever  since  the  Grena- 
dier's appearance  had  watched  his  gal- 
lant figure,  and  listened  in  amazement 
and  with  a  sort  of  fascination  to  his 
remarks,  now  stepped  forward.  "I  beg  of 
you,  gentlemen,  that  this  shall  go  no 
further." 

"I  don't  know  your  name,  old  Mr. 
Drab-clothes,"  said  D'Arcy,  with  an 
amused  smile,  "but  you've  had  your 
fun,  and  I  won't  be  done  out  of  mine. 
I  never  permit  insolence  from  mus- 
tachios,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  Ger- 
mans. 

"For  God's  sake,  Jack,  what  will  the 
General  say?"  interrupted  Gregory,  in  a 
frenzy  at  the  young  Irishman's  indiscre- 
tion. 

"My  seconds  will  call  upon  you 
to-day, ' '  cried  the  Captain. 

"And  mine,"  said  Millhausen. 
"Where  are  you  quartered?" 

"My  friend  Captain  Gregory  will  make 
all  arrangements  for  me.  We  shall  be 
quartered  here.  Good  morning."  And 
00 


A  FEIEND  INDEED 

turning  on  his  heel,  he  engaged  in  conver- 
sation with  Gregory  and  Davis,  while  the 
Hessians  stamped  furiously  out  of  the 
gardens. 


91 


\ 


CHAPTER    VIII 

UNWELCOME    GUESTS 

"A  pretty  mess,"  growled  Gregory,  as 
they  disappeared. 

"I  pray  thee,  sir,  to  reconsider  this," 
said  old  Davis. 

"Tut,  sir,"  answered  D'Arcy.  "I 
won't  hurt  'em;  only  teach  'em  good 
manners. " 

"Did  I  understand  thee  to  say  that  thee 
and  thy  friend  would  be  quartered  here?" 
asked  the  Quaker,  anxiety  for  the  girls 
getting  the  better  of  his  desire  to  stop  a 
duel. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Irishman,,  "and  very 
fair  quarters  they  are,  too,"  he  added, 
looking  up  at  the  house. 

"I  trust  we  will  not  incommode  the 
ladies,"  said  Gregory. 

"It  is  that,  that  I  would  speak  about," 

answered   the   old   man.     "Mrs.   Towne- 

shend  and  her  daughter  and  niece  are  quite 

alone    here.       Mrs.    Towneshend    is    an 

93 


D'ARCY  of  tie  GUARDS 

invalid,  and  the  occupation  of  her  house, 
I  fear,  would  distress  her  exceedingly. ' 

"You  don't  think  we  would  hurt  the 
women?"  replied  Gregory.  "  We're  not 
Hessians." 

"My  house,  sirs,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away,  is  quite  at  your  disposal,"  said 
Davis. 

"It  is  already  occupied,  my  good  sir," 
D'Arcy  answered. 

"Occupied!"  cried  the  Quaker,  in  dis- 
may.    "But  I  am  a  loyalist." 

"Then  you'll  be  overjoyed  to  hear  that 
Lord  Cornwallis  has  his  headquarters 
there,"  laughed  Gregory. 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  D'Arcy,  kindly, 
feeling  for  the  old  man's  discomfiture,  "I 
like  the  way  you  handled  those  rascally 
Dutchmen.  Your  friends  will  be  much 
safer  with  us  in  the  house,  than  on  the 
outside.  We  will  serve  to  keep  such 
vermin  out,  and  shall  be  very  little  trouble. 
Two  bedrooms  and  a  living  room  are  all 
we  require." 

"I  thank  thee,  sir,  for  thy  considera- 
tion," answered  Davis.  "I  will  go  in  and 
tell  them." 

94 


UNWELCOME  GUESTS 

"A  militant  Quaker,"  Gregory  re- 
marked a  moment  later,  as  the  tall  gray 
figure  entered  the  house. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  of  Quakers,"  cried 
Jack.  "It's  she,  I'm  thinking  of.  Greg, 
me  boy,  she's  a  duchess  in  disguise." 

"Who  is  a  duchess  in  disguise?"  asked 
the  doctor,  blankly. 

"Oh,  ye  lump  of  ice!  You're  as  luke- 
warm as  weak  tea!"  rejoined  the  Irish- 
man. "Didn't  you  notice  the  dark  girl 
with  the  grand  manner  and  the  foot  like  a 
fairy?" 

"And  the  tongue  like  a  rapier?"  ques- 
tioned Gregory,  laughing. 

"Sure,  you're  an  ungallant  lout,  Greg, 
like  the  rest  of  your  countrymen.  My 
lady  has  the  gift  of  language  and  uses  it," 
said  D'Arcy. 

"She  must  be  Irish,"  answered  Greg- 
ory. 

"Faith,  I  can  account  for  her  in  no 
other  way,"  the  young  officer  replied 
quickly. 

"Oh,  well,"  the  doctor  said,  "no 
philandering,  Jack." 

"You're  vulgar,  Captain  Gregory." 
95 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"I  wish  to  the  devil  yon  had  not 
quarreled  with  those  fellows,"  the  other 
put  in,  worried  at  the  prospect. 

"Don't  bother,  Greg.  They're  as 
clumsy  as  Englishmen,  and  I  won't  hurt 
'em." 

"If  it  comes  to  Lord  Cornwallis'  ears 
you'll  be  broke.  He's  expressly  forbidden 
dueling." 

"But  you  must  see  that  no  word  of  it 
gets  out,  me  boy.  That  is,  if  you  don't 
want  to  see  me  gazetted  home  again,"  said 
D'Arcy,  gaily. 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  that  being 
on  the  staff,  demands  discretion,"  said 
Gregory,  angrily. 

"There's  no  such  word  in  Irish," 
D'Arcy  laughed. 

"Lord  D'Arcy  would  never  see  you,  if 
you  disgraced  yourself  again." 

"He  wouldn't  recognize  me  as  a  son  of 
his,  if  I  didn't,"  answered  the  young  officer 
in  huge  spirits. 

"Well,  I  refuse  to  act  as  your  second," 
rejoined  Gregory,  now  thoroughly  out  of 
humor. 

The  young  grenadier  always  knew  when 
.    96 


UNWELCOME  GUESTS 

he  had  pressed  the  touchy  old  doctor 
beyond  the  limit,  and  immediately  began 
to  wheedle,  throwing  an  arm  affectionately 
about  his  shoulders. 

"Now,  Greg,  dear,  you're  behaving 
unhandsomely.  I've  had  only  three  fights 
since  we  landed,"  he  coaxed. 

"And  each  time  you  swore  to  me  would 
be  the  last,"  answered  Gregory,  unre- 
lenting. 

"And  I  kept  my  oath,"  asserted 
D'Arcy. 

"You  kept  your  oath!"  ejaculated  the 
doctor,  in  disgust. 

"Each  time  was  the  last  time"  pleaded 
his  friend,  disingenuously.  "  Come, 
Greg,"  he  went  on,  "just  this  once.  You 
wouldn't  have  the  Dutch  beggars  laugh- 
ing at  the  Guards?" 

Gregory  wavered.  "You'll  not  hurt 
'em?"  he  asked. 

"  'Pon  me  honor,  Greg,  I'll  only  disarm 
'em." 

"Jack   D'Arcy,  you'll   ruin  me  along 

with  yourself,"  said  the  old  man,  testily, 

annoyed  at  himself.     "You  wouldn't  have 

bothered  your  head  about  the  rascals,  if  it 

97 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

hadn't  been  for  the  little  rebel  wench 
inside." 

"Greg,  she's  a  lady,  rebel  or  no  rebel, 
and  no  gentleman  could  stand  by  and  see 
her  insulted." 

"You'll  have  your  hands  full,  if  you're 
going  to  protect  every  little  Colonial  who 
has  a  neat  ankle  and  a  kissing  mouth," 
said  Gregory,  drily. 

"I'll  take  it  unkindly,  Greg,  if  you 
make  any  more  disparaging  remarks  about 
the  Duchess." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  and  the  old 
doctor  laughed. 

"You'll  second  me?"  asked  D'Arcy, 
sure  of  his  answer. 

"I  will.     Have  I  ever  refused?" 

"No.  You're  a  jewel,"  said  the  young 
Irishman.  "And  now  scatter  yourself 
and  look  after  our  baggage.  I'll  go 
in  and  arrange  matters  with  our  host- 
ess." 

Gregory  was  departing  on  his  mission 
when  D'Arcy  called  after,  "Hurry  back. 
I'm  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. "  At  that 
moment  Pamela  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
The  young  man  heard  the  opening  door, 


UNWELCOME  GUESTS 

and  turned  to  her  with  his  hat  in  his  hand 
as  she  came  toward  him. 

"We  have  to  thank  yon,  Major  D'Arcy, 
for  your  very  timely  interference  in  our 
behalf,"  she  said.  There  was  no  sign  in 
her  face  that  she  had  overheard  his  call  to 
Gregory,  and  the  young  officer  thought  he 
had  never  seen  so  lovely  a  thing  in  his  life 
as  the  tall  girl,  standing  on  the  steps, 
looking  down  on  him  coldly,  and  with  a 
certain  condescension  that  seemed  to  him 
fitting. 

"/  should  speak  of  gratitude,  Miss 
Towneshend,  in  being  permitted  in  any 
way  to  serve  you, "  he  said,  gravely. 

"Mr.  Davis  tells  me  that  you  and  your 
companion  have  chosen  our  house  for  your 
lodging,"  went  on  Pamela,  ignoring  his 
last  remark. 

"The  fortunes  of  war,  Miss  Towne 
shend,  throw  us  upon  your  bounty."  He 
was  determined  to  place  the  matter  in  its 
best  light,  but  it  was  difficult  to  make  way 
against  the  self-possession  and  imperturba- 
bility of  the  girl. 

"The  fortunes  of  war  make  us  unwill- 
ing hosts,"  she  said. 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"  'Tis  only  the  order  of  my  chief,  Lord 
Cornwallis,  that  forces  your  hospitality. 
He  has  directed  Captain  Gregory  and 
myself  to  lodge  here,"  answered  D'Arcy, 
feeling  the  absolute  necessity  of  meeting 
the  hostile  criticism  that  shone  from  those 
gray  eyes. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  seem  ungracious  nor 
unmindful  of  your  chivalrous  defense  of 
my  cousin  and  myself,"  said  the  girl, 
feeling  his  sincerity,  "but  I  cannot  forget 
that  you  are  an  enemy  to  my  country. 
Whatever  you  and  Captain  Gregory  need 
shall  be  freely  given,  but — "  she  wavered 
for  a  moment,  and  he  could  see  her  eyes 
fill,  "but  I  hate  your  being  here,"  she 
added,  vehemently. 

D'Arcy  was  touched,  her  tears  brought 
a  feeling  of  debasement,  of  unmanliness, 
that  he  should  be  the  cause  of  her  tor- 
ment. 

"Dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  quickly, 
"you  make  me  feel  no  better  than  one  of 
those  rascally  Hessians." 

His  eagerness  brought  a  smile  to  her 
lips.  "Oh,  you  are  better  than  they," 
she  said. 

100 


UNWELCOME  GUESTS 

"I  thank  you  for  the  slightest  com- 
mendation, Miss  Towneshend,  though  it 
come  from  the  most  odious  comparison," 
answered  D'Arcy. 

"We  judge  a  man  by  his  friends;  a  sol- 
dier by  his  allies, "  said  Pamela. 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  he  replied, 
"and  you're  quite  right." 

"We  should  be  thankful  that  they  are 
not  to  be  our  guests,"  said  she. 

"I  shall  twist  that  into  a  half  welcome, 
at  least." 

"God  forbid,  that  British  uniforms 
should  have  even  a  half-welcome  in  our 
house,"  Pamela  answered,  earnestly. 

"I  was  never  before  tempted  to  desert 
my  colors,"  said  D'Arcy,  gallantly;  but 
pretty  speeches,  he  felt,  were  unheeded 
by  that  straightforward,  dominating 
creature,  who  so  turned  the  tables, 
that  she  made  him  feel  like  the  vul- 
garest  intruder,  instead  of  a  conquering 
hero. 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  reappear- 
ance of  Gregory,  whom  D'Arcy  presented 
immediately. 

"I  will  show  you  the  house,  gentle- 
101 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

men,"  she  said,  simply,  "and  you  may 
choose  your  chambers." 

"We  follow,  Miss  Towneshend," 
answered  D'Arcy. 

She  passed  on  ahead  through  the  door- 
way. At  the  top  of  the  steps,  D'Arcy 
stopped  his  companion  and  ejaculated, 
"Greg,  me  boy,  I  was  mistaken,  she's  not 
a  duchess  in  disguise." 

"What!"  laughed  Gregory,  "so  soon 
disillusioned?  Is  she  more  like  a  cham- 
ber wench?" 

"Hush,  man,  you  blaspheme,"  answered 
the  young  officer.  "She's  every  inch  a 
queen!" 


102 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE   CONQUERORS 

The  rebel  capital  bent  its  head  meekly, 
not  to  say  graciously,  to  the  yoke  of  the 
conquerors.  There  was  a  brief  moment  of 
suspense  and  hope,  when  Washington  came 
battering  at  the  gates,  one  October  morn- 
ing, but  the  cartloads  of  wounded 
trundled  through  the  streets,  from  Ger- 
mantown,  later  in  the  day,  showed  that  his 
plans  had  gone  awry,  and  the  little  town 
settled  down  with  no  very  ill  grace,  it 
must  be  said,  to  enjoy  its  captivity. 

The  weeks  passed,  drifting  slowly  into 
months,  and  the  Doctor  and  D'Arcy,  who, 
with  many  another  besides,  fretted  at  the 
enforced  idleness,  found  some  compensa- 
tion in  the  comfort  of  their  lodgings. 
The  little  affair  with  the  Hessian  officers 
went  off  very  comically,  and  was  the  occa- 
sion of  many  a  witty  sally  at  the  expense 
of  D'Arcy — always  behind  his  back,  it 
must  be  said.  They  had  met  early  one 
103 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

morning  in  a  secluded  corner  of  the  town, 
and  the  two  bullies  had  been  taught  a 
lesson  in  swordsmanship,  that  was  like  to 
last  them  the  rest  of  their  careers.  The 
Guards'  mess  laughed  heartily  over  the 
matter,  and  one  night  at  a  regimental 
supper,  at  "The  Indian  Queen,"  young 
Captain  Dacier  ventured  to  chaff  the 
Major  about  "the  beauteous  Miss  Towne- 
shend."  He  was  saved  by  his  friends, 
however,  who  drew  him  off  quickly,  at  the 
sight  of  D'Arcy's  peculiar  little  smile, 
which  most  of  them  knew  so  well  meant 
trouble. 

As  for  "the  beauteous  Miss  Towne- 
shend"  herself,  she  tried  valiantly  to  make 
the  best  of  circumstances  that  filled  her 
with  chagrin.  She  bitterly  resented  the  fes- 
tive and  gala  air  about  the  town ;  she  would 
have  drunk  the  health  of  King  George 
as  quickly  as  she  would  have  attended 
one  of  the  gay,  brilliant  assemblies  at  the 
"City  Tavern,"  or  made  one  of  the  jolly, 
thoughtless  little  audiences  at  the  theater 
in  South  street.  She  would  have  consid- 
ered herself  false  to  every  patriotic  ideal,  if 
in  any  way  she  had  condoned  the  presence 
104 


The  CONQUERORS 

of  the  invaders,  for  whom  she  had  a  bitter, 
rankling  hatred. 

It  concentrated  on  the  two  representa- 
tives whose  red-coats  flitted  in  and  out 
of  her  house ;  and  though  their  meetings 
were  of  the  rarest,  yet  it  was  impossi- 
ble not,  at  times,  to  come  in  contact 
with  them ;  particularly  as  the  only  outlet 
from  their  apartments  was  through  her 
favorite  part  of  the  house :  the  book  room. 
There,  on  occasion,  when  her  calculation 
as  to  their  absence  or  time  of  return  went 
amiss,  they  surprised  her,  and  it  became  a- 
matter  of  constant  and  eager  speculation 
on  D'Arcy's  part,  how  often,  during  a 
week,  he  might  hope  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  tall,  dark  girl,  whose  very  indifference 
was  beginning  to  mean  more  to  him  than 
the  smiles  of  any  other  woman  ever  had. 

The  preciousness  of  these  chance  meet- 
ings, though  they  profited  him  nothing 
more  than  a  cold  curtsy,  or  at  best,  the 
briefest  of  desultory  talk,  was  tremen- 
dously augmented  in  the  eyes  of  the 
young  Irishman,  by  the  fact  that  they 
were  possible  nowhere  else.  He  had  com- 
menced going  to  the  public  assemblies 
105 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

and  the  private  routs,  with  an  eagerness  of 
anticipation  that  he  was  sadly  conscious 
of,  only  when  he  found  that  she  never 
appeared.  And  the  result  was,  that  he 
became  less  and  less  a  participator  in  the 
gaieties  of  his  fellow  officers;  spending 
what  time  he  had  from  his  duties  riding 
about  the  country  by  day,  and  at  night, 
for  the  most  time,  playing  sedately  at 
piquet,  with  some  older  officer;  while  he 
developed  a  crotchety  moodiness  that  was 
near  driving  Gregory  frantic. 

The  old  man  watched  over  him  solicit- 
ously, and  during  his  absences  puffed 
solemnly  at  his  pipe  for  hours,  in  anxious 
cogitation  as  to  the  youngster's  malady. 
Though  he  said  little,  his  keen  watchful- 
ness worried  D'Arcy  almost  to  frenzy.  He 
didn't  want  to  be  bothered;  he  wanted  to 
nurse  the  deadly,  hopeless  feeling  within 
him,  by  himself.  He  knew  Gregory  would 
never  suspect  the  real  trouble,  and  he 
dreaded  the  time  when  he  should  have  to 
tell  him;  for  he  knew  his  old  friend's  lov- 
ing inquisitiveness  would  force  it  from 
him  sooner  or  later. 

It  came  rather  sooner  than  he  expected. 
108 


The  CONQUERORS 

It  was  one  night,  late.  Gregory  had  a 
habit  of  slipping  downstairs,  in  his  dress- 
ing-gown, and  smoking  before  the  huge 
fire,  till  D'Arcy  came  in.  He  had  asked 
and  obtained  permission  from  Pamela  for 
his  indulgence — neither  of  the  men  pre- 
sumed an  iota  on  their  peculiar  position  in 
the  house,  and  strove  by  every  means  in 
their  power  to  establish  the  high  standard 
of  host  and  guest — and  it  was  one  of  the 
pleasantest  hours  of  the  day  to  the  old 
man,  when  the  little  household  was  long 
abed,  and  he  sat  smoking,  with  the  de- 
canter not  too  far  away  from  his  reach, 
and  his  slippered  feet  toasting  on  the 
fender.  He  was  well  through  his  fourth 
pipe  this  special  night,  before  Jack  put  in 
an  appearance,  and  it  was  an  unsatisfac- 
tory one  to  his  old  friend.  Discontent  sat 
heavily  on  his  face,  and  throwing  off  his 
cloak,  he  flung  himself  moodily  into  a 
chair. 

"What  is  it,  Jack?"  asked  Gregory. 

"Oh,  nothing's  the  matter ;  don't  bother 
a  fellow." 

"Jack,  I  believe  you're  not  well." 

"Oh,  you  want  to  physic  me,"  answered 
107 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

D'Arcy.    "Well,  I'm  not  well," he  went 
on. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Gregory,  eagerly, 
sitting  np. 

"I  have  some  trouble  here,"  answered 
Jack,  and  he  put  his  hand  over  his  heart. 

"Your  heart?"  ejaculated  the  doctor, 
his  professional  interest  aroused,  and 
blinding  him  to  the  gay  twinkle  that  had 
come  into  D  'Arcy's  eyes. 

"Where  it  ought  to  be,"  the  Major 
replied. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Gregory.  "You're 
as  sound  as  a  horse." 

"Well,  I  ought  to  know,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Tell  me  about  it.  What  are  your 
symptoms?"  asked  the  old  man,  leaning 
forward,  his  brows  screwed  together 
critically. 

"Greg,  my  appetite  seems  to  be  disap- 
pearing, and  I'm  losing  interest  in  every- 
thing." 

"I've  noticed  it,"  nodded  the  doctor, 
gravely. 

"And  whenever  I  see  or  think  of  a  cer- 
tain person,"  went  on  D'Arcy,  "I  have  a 
tremendous  palpitation  in  my  heart." 
108 


The  CONQUERORS 

"Jack  D'Arcy,  axe  you  going  mad?" 
cried  Gregory,  sitting  up  very  straight, 
and  staring. 

"Maybe  it 's  the  same  thing,  Greg.  I'm 
in  love. ' '  It  came  out  very  gently,  with 
a  low  laugh,  and  he  felt  as  if  he  had 
dropped  a  burden  the  moment  his  secret 
had  slipped  through  his  lips. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  ejaculated 
Gregory,  and  then  he  burst  forth  angrily. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you've  worked 
me  up  to  operation  pitch  with  nothing  but 
a  tale  of  lovesickness?" 

"You  seem  to  think  it's  nothing  seri- 
ous," rejoined  D'Arcy,  hiding  his  mer- 
riment by  a  violent  assault  on  the 
smoldering  logs. 

"What  if  it  is  serious?"  said  Gregory. 
"You  don't  suppose  I  keep  love  draughts 
on  tap,  do  you?" 

"You're  unkind  to  me,  Greg,"  said 
the  Irishman,  "you  have  no  sentiment." 

Gregory  puffed  contemptuously  for  a 
moment.  "Who  is  it — this  time?"  he 
asked. 

"I  resent  your  'this  time,'  Captain 
Gregory,"  answered  D'Arcy,  with  pre- 
109 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

tense  of  the  offended.  "You  know  bet- 
ter than  any  one,"  he  added,  "that 
I  wasn't  serious  the  last  time  with 
Lady  Gray,  or  the  time  before  that  with 
Mrs.  Germaine,  or  even  with  Lady  Betty 
Kew." 

"Oh,  Jack,  you'll  be  the  death  of  me," 
roared  Gregory. 

"Faith,  I  should  like  to  be,"  said  Jack. 
"You've  no  more  sympathy  for  the  tender 
passion  than  a  stone." 

"My  sympathies  are  broad,  Jack,"  said 
the  doctor,  still  laughing  till  the  tears 
ran,  "but  I've  never  been  able  to  cover 
your  tender  passions." 

"You're  mightily  amused  at  my  ex- 
pense," said  D'Arcy,  a  bit  ruffled  at  the 
other's  continued  amusement. 

"Who  is  it,  Jack?"  gasped  the  old 
man,  between  gurgles. 

"I'll  not  call  upon  you  to  stretch  your 
elastic  sympathy  any  further,  Captain 
Gregory,"  replied  D'Arcy. 

"Now,  Jack,  you  know  I  was  but  teas- 
ing," coaxed  Gregory. 

"You'll  not  breathe  it  to  a  soul?" 

"I  swear  not." 

no 


T7ie  CONQUERORS 

"It's  the  Duchess,"  whispered  D'Arcy, 
as  if  the  room  held  a  company  full. 

"The  Duchess?"  questioned  Gregory, 
mystified. 

"Pamela,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Pamela?  You  don't  mean  Miss 
TWneshend?"  cried  the  doctor,  and  the 
mystery  of  weeks  was  flooded  with 
light. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  young  Irishman, 
"the  loveliest  creature  that  ever  tripped 
minuet,  or  killed  with  the  glance  of  gray 
eyes.  She  was  born  under  the  segis  of 
divine  Diana,  and  all  the  goddess'  gifts 
have  been  showered  on  her,"  rhapsodized 
D'Arcy;  then  breaking  off  and  jumping  to 
his  feet  he  exclaimed:  "Oh,  Greg,  why 
haven't  you  heart  enough  to  know  what 
I'm  talking  about?" 

"Too  much  heart  addles  the  brains," 
said  the  old  man,  sententiously. 

"Pah!  Your  blood  runs  icy  cold," 
rejoined  the  Major.  "Come  up  to  bed, 
it's  past  one,"  he  said,  taking  up  his 
candle  and  leading  the  way.  Gregory 
followed  after,  rather  dazed  at  an 
earnestness  in  his  young  friend's  man- 
1U 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

ner,  that  was  unaccustomed,  but  re- 
lieved withal  that  there  was  no  physical 
or  mental  derangement  in  his  pro- 
tege. 


113 


CHAPTEK  X 


COKKESPONDENCE 


A  freezing  December  was  drawing  to- 
wards its  end,  and  there  was  bitter 
vaticination  in  the  shrewd  and  piercing 
air,  for  the  devoted  little  American  army 
scattered  on  the  hills  about  Valley  Forge. 
Young  Captain  Towneshend  had  managed 
once  to  get  through  the  lines,  shortly  after 
the  battle  of  Germantown,  and  at  long 
intervals  —  they  seemed  eternities  to 
Cynthia, — hastily  scribbled  communica- 
tions arrived  at  the  Towneshend  house, 
and  were  devoured  by  the  three  anxious 
women.  The  strain  told  perceptibly  on 
the  old  lady,  and  Pamela  was  heartsick  at 
her  mother's  worried,  pitiable  condition. 
She  appealed  hurriedly  to  Gregory  one 
night,  when  her  mother  appeared  to  be  in 
a  dangerous  state,  and  the  old  doctor 
worked  wonders,  and  continued  to  watch 
over  her  till  she  was  quite  on  the  mend. 
He  managed  to  break  through  the  barrier 
113 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUAEDS 

of  distrust,  too,  that  the  girls  defended  so 
zealously  against  every  approach,  and  the 
gentle  Cynthia  even  went  so  far  as  to 
conclude  that  D'Arcy  might  have  a  few 
redeeming  attributes. 

Venturing  to  suggest  it  one  morning,  as 
they  stood  shivering  over  the  big  fire  in 
the  book-room  (they  had  just  come  in 
from  a  brisk  walk,  with  noses  red  and 
blood  a-tingle),  Pamela  broke  out  im- 
patiently: "Oh,  when  are  we  to  be  rid  of 
that  insufferable  Irish  dandy?" 

"We  might  change  lodgers  and  fare 
worse,"  rejoined  Cynthia,  stoutly. 

"I  can  hardly  conceive  of  it,"  answered 
Pamela,  smothering  a  yawn  in  her  huge 
muff. 

"You  evidently  forget  the  Hessians." 

Pamela's  shoulders  rose  in  a  shrug  of 
disgust.  "Ugh!  Don't  mention  those 
creatures,"  she  said. 

"And  yet  it  was  the  Irish  dandy  that 
saved  us  from  them,"  went  on  the  devil's 
advocate,  "and  at  peril  of  his  life  too." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Pamela,  tapping  the 
fender  impatiently. 

"You  are  unkind,  Pamela,"  Cynthia 
114 


CORRESPONDENCE 

pursued.  "Didn't  he  fight  both  of  those 
horrible  men?" 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing;  any  man  would 
have  done  the  same.  And  he  wasn't 
hurt,"  added  Pamela,  perversity  holding 
her  tight. 

"No,  but  they  were,  and  he  came  very 
near  being  court-martialed,  as  Mr.  Davis 
told  us."  Cynthia  was  growing  bold  in 
her  championship.  Pamela  laughingly 
drew  her  close  and  took  her  chin  in  her 
hand.  "You  dear  little  coz,  are  you 
going  over  to  the  enemy?"  she  asked, 
looking  deep  in  the  blue  eyes. 

"No,  but  I  believe  in  giving  the  devil 
his  due." 

"Don't  worry  about  the  devil,  dear,  he 
will  take  care  of  his  own." 

"They  have  been  very  kind  and  con- 
siderate," said  Cynthia,  bound  to  make 
her  point.  "And  Captain  Gregory  has 
helped  Aunt  Clarissa  a  great  deal." 

"I  don't  object  to  the  doctor,  his  pro- 
fession is  a  merciful  one,"  Pamela  replied, 
"but  that  coxcomb,  Major  D'Arcy,  with 
his  fine  London  airs,  and  his  redcoats, 
drives  me  to  a  frenzy.  And  that 
115 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

brogue!"  she  added,  comically  putting 
her  fingers  to  her  ears.  "Oh,  that 
brogue!" 

Cynthia  had  to  laugh.  "It  should 
plead  for  him,"  she  cried,  merrily. 
"It's  not  English." 

"No,  but  it's  British, "rejoined  Pamela. 

"You're  relentless." 

"As  long  as  we  are  prisoners,"  Pamela 
said,  firmly. 

"Well,  it  won't  last  forever,"  assured 
her  cousin. 

"The  day  they  evacuate  the  city,  I  shall 
begin  to  like  them;  when  they  sail  for 
England  I  shall  adore  them,"  answered 
Pamela. 

"A  fine  way  to  love  your  enemies," 
answered  Cynthia. 

"The  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  dear; 
at  a  distance,"  said  Pamela;  and  the 
controversy  dropped. 

Strangely  enough,  the  first  of  a  curious 
concatenation  of  small  events  that  were 
destined  to  modify  somewhat  Miss  Towne- 
shend's  stringent  opinion  of  the  young 
officer,  took  place  not  many  moments  after 
the  conversation  just  chronicled.  They 
116 


CORRESPONDENCE 

were  still  standing  before  the  fire  gazing 
pensively  at  the  leaping  blaze,  when  a  low 
knock  at  the  door,  leading  to  what  they 
called  their  part  of  the  house,  roused  them 
from  their  r every.  Tn  answer  to  Pamela's 
summons,  the  kinky  head  and  black  face  of 
Sambo  was  thrust  cautiously  in,  and  after 
rolling  his  eyes  mysteriously  about  the 
room  for  a  second,  he  tiptoed  toward 
them. 

"A  letter  for  you,  Miss  Pamela,"  said 
the  old  darkey,  mysteriously,  and  Pamela 
reached  for  it  with  wonder  in  her  eyes. 

"It's  from  Ned,  Cynthia!"  she  cried 
joyfully,  ripping  the  folded  ends  from 
their  pressure  of  wax. 

"From  Ned?"  gasped  Cynthia,  spring- 
ing to  her  side. 

"Yes.     Who  left  it,  Sambo?" 

"A  farm-boy  gave  it  to  Cicely  at  the 
gate,  Miss  Pamela,  and  went  right  off." 

But  Pamela  heard  not  a  word  of  the 
explanation;  her  eyes  were  rapidly  scan- 
ning the  letter's  contents. 

"What  does  he  say,  Pamela?"  asked 
Cynthia,  in  an  ecstasy  of  suspense. 

"All  is  well;  he  is  coming,"  answered 
117 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

Pamela,  reading  on  swiftly.     "You  may 
go,  Sambo,     Thank  you." 

"Is  Massa  Eddy  well,  Miss  Pamela?" 
ventured  the  old  servitor. 

"Yes,  Sambo,  very,"  and  Sambo  went 
out  thanking  "the  Lord"  for  the  safe- 
keeping of  his  dear  young  master. 

The  door  had  scarce  clicked  behind  him 
when  Cynthia  burst  out:  "Quick,  dear 
Pamela,  read  to  me;  it  is  cruel  to  keep 
me  in  suspense." 

The  letter  had  evidently  been  written  in 
the  greatest  haste,  and  Pamela  read 
slowly:  "Dearest  Sis:  I  have  just  a 
chance  of  getting  word  through  to  you. 
I  only  write  to  say,  that  I  hope  to  be  witli 
you  as  soon  as  this.  I  shall  leave  the  camp 
before  daybreak  to-morrow  morning " 

"That's  to-day,"  interrupted  Cynthia, 
eagerly. 

"So  it  is,"  answered  Pamela,  glancing 
at  the  date. 

"Please  read  on.  You  are  so  slow," 
said  the  impatient  Cynthia.  So  im- 
patient were  they  both,  and  so  eagerly 
interested,  that  neither  of  them  heard  the 
door  at  their  backs  open. 
118 


CORRESPONDENCE 

"I  shall  leave  the  camp  before  daybreak 

to-morrow    morning,    disguised    as " 

There  was  a  cough  behind  them,  and  the 
girls  whirled  to  face  the  intruder,  Pamela 
crushing  the  note  in  her  hand. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  ladies,"  said 
Gregory,  his  old  face  a  blank  to  the  quick, 
questioning  scrutiny  of  Pamela,  who 
wondered,  in  a  tremble,  if  he  had  heard. 

"Good  morning,  Captain  Gregory,"  she 
said,  quietly. 

"Good  morning  to  you,  Miss  Towne- 
shend,  and  to  you,  Miss  Deane,"  said  the 
old  doctor.     "I  hope  I  don't  intrude?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Cynthia,  flurried. 

"We  are  hugging  the  fire,  after  our 
walk,"  Pamela  remarked. 

"It's  a  bitter  day,  "said  Gregory.  "I 
trust  your  mother  is  well  this  morning, " 
he  added. 

"Very,  thank  yon,  doctor.  We  are 
going  to  her  now.  Come,  Cynthia."  She 
lifted  her  muff  from  a  chair,  and  they 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"I  am  driving  you  away." 

"Oh,  no,  indeed;  we  were  just  going 
when  you  entered,"  said  Cynthia,  smil- 
119 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

ing.  As  for  Pamela,  she  could  gather 
nothing  from  Gregory's  wrinkled  phiz, 
and  she  passed  out  of  the  room  in  a  small 
panic. 

Her  perturbation  would  have  been 
sensibly  increased  if  she  could  have  seen 
the  doctor,  a  moment  later,  stoop  and  pick 
up  the  crumpled  letter,  which  had  slid 
through  her  muff  to  the  floor,  at  the  very 
instant  of  exit. 


120 


CHAPTER   XI 


A     PROPOSAL 


Gregory  smoothed  out  the  wrinkled 
paper,  which  had  adjusted  itself  to  its 
original  folds,  and  read  the  superscrip- 
tion. The  writing  was  strong  and 
masculine,  and  the  old  man  had  recourse 
to  his  snuff-box  several  times,  as  with 
speculative  eyes  he  examined  and  re- 
examined the  quill  strokes.  The  more  he 
pondered  the  less  he  could  make  out  of  it, 
and  he  was  glad  when  D'Arcy  appeared  a 
few  moments  later. 

"Not  gone  out  yet,  Greg?"  he  asked, 
stepping  to  where  the  old  man  stood. 

"No,  I  am  trying  to  thaw  out," 
answered  Gregory.  "This  is  a  devilish 
cold  climate." 

"I  believe  these  damned  Americans 
could  make  it  warm  enough  for  us  if  we 
gave  'em  a  show." 

"Well,  they'll  soon  have  the  chance," 
replied  the  doctor,  referring  to  a  secret 
121 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

plan  that  was  on  foot,  and  which  shall  be 
told  of  later.  Then  he  added:  "I  saw 
your  divinity  but  a  moment  before  you 
came  in." 

"She  was  here?"  asked  D'Arcy  eagerly, 
turning  from  the  fire. 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  drily,  "and 
curiously  occupied." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"She  was  reading  what  I  judged  to  be  a 
love-letter,"  answered  Gregory. 

"A  love-letter,  man!"  ejaculated 
D'Arcy,  for  the  moment  losing  his  accus- 
tomed poise.  "How  do  you  know? 
Whom  was  she  reading  to?" 

"As  I  entered  the  room,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, "Miss  Towneshend  and  her  cousin 
were  standing  where  you  stand,  with  their 
backs  to  me.  I  happened  to  overhear 
these  words,  which  Miss  Towneshend 
read  from  a  letter:  'I  shall  leave  the 
camp  before  daybreak  to-morrow,  disguised 
as '  Then  I  thought  it  time  to  dis- 
cover myself." 

"That  was  all  you  heard?"  asked  the 
Irishman,  slowly. 

"All,"  replied  Gregory. 
122 


A    PROPOSAL 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
D'Arcy  broke  into  an  uneasy  laugh. 
"Ah,  you're  suspicions  by  nature,  Greg, 
like  all  Englishmen,"  he  said.  "The 
note  was  to  Miss  Deane." 

"I  happen  to  know  differently.  Here 
is  the  billet  doux.  Miss  Towneshend 
dropped  it  as  she  went  out." 

Gregory  held  it  out,  and  D'Arcy 
eagerly  snatched  it,  reading  the  address 
again  and  again,  with  a  sort  of  fascination. 

"And  what  did  you  hear,  Gregg?"  he 
asked,  finally. 

"I  heard  Miss  Towneshend  read  this 
much,"  and  Gregory  repeated,  "'I  shall 
leave  camp  before  daybreak  to-morrow 
disguised  as '  " 

"And  why  the  devil  didn't  you  wait  to 
hear  how  the  blackguard  was  going  to 
disguise  himself?"  cried  D'Arcy. 

"You  hold  the  key  to  the  mystery  in 
your  hand,"  replied  the  doctor,  quietly. 

"Greg,  I  wouldn't  have  thought  it  of 
you,"  said  the  other,  reproachfully. 

"But  you  would  have  had  me  eavesdrop 
for  your  personal  satisfaction,"  rejoined 
Gregory. 

123 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Forgive  me,  old  man.  I'm  not  my- 
self," said  the  youngster,  going  to  him. 
"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  he  added, 
holding  the  troublesome  piece  of  paper  out 
at  arm's  length. 

"Honest?"  questioned  Gregory,  watch- 
ing his  friend  narrowly. 

"Honest,"  answered  D'Arcy. 

"I  think,"  said  the  doctor,  deliber- 
ately formulating  his  opinion,  even  to 
himself,  for  the  first  time.  "I  think 
that  the  fair  Miss  Towneshend  is 
particularly  interested  in  some  one  in 
the  rebel  camp  at  Valley  Forge,  who 
intends  getting  through  the  lines  to  pay 
her  a  visit." 

"Faith,  the  gentleman  will  never  return 
alive  to  Valley  Forge  if  I  clap  eyes  on 
him,"  said  the  Major,  with  his  peculiar 
little  smile. 

"Well,  he  evidently  hasn't  arrived  yet, 
or  they  wouldn't  have  been  reading  his 
letter  so  eagerly." 

"You  break  my  heart,  Greg,"  cried 
D'Arcy.  "Was  she  really  reading  the 
scoundrel's  letter  eagerly?" 

"Not  so  very  eagerly,  Jack,"  said  the 
134 


A   PROPOSAL 

doctor,  attempting  to  ameliorate  the  rigor 
of  his  former  remark. 

"Thank  you  for  that,"  answered  Jack. 
"You  give  me  a  crumb  of  comfort,"  and 
he  looked  so  dispirited  that  Gregory  felt 
for  him. 

"Brace  yourself,  Jack,"  he  said.  ""We 
must  improve  that  heart  action,  eh,  lad?" 

"Faint  heart  will  never  do,  will  it, 
Greg?"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Not  for  so  fair  a  lady,  Jack,"  and  the 
doctor  clapped  him  on  the  shoulders, 
buoyantly,  and  with  an  air  of  confidence 
that  was  tremendously  reassuring  to  his 
companion,  the  complexion  of  whose  vari- 
able spirits  was  easily  changed. 

"Egad,  Greg!"  he  cried,  "you  have  a 
soul  above  pill  boxes  and  lancets,  after  all. " 

"Ah,  you  rascal,  what  would  your 
mother  say  to  a  rebel  daughter-in-law?" 
the  doctor  laughed,  pleased  at  the  turn  in 
his  humor. 

"Faith,  that's  the  kind  every  mother 
has  to  put  up  with,"  answered  D'Arcy, 
sparkling. 

"I  think  her  ladyship  would  prefer  one 
English  bred,  though,"  ventured  Gregory. 
125 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"I've  written  and  told  her  of  Pamela," 
said  the  Irishman,  simply. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Captain. 
"You've  written  to  Lady  D'Arcy?" 

"Three  weeks  ago,"  announced  the 
young  man,  tersely. 

"Well,  now  I  do  believe  you're  in  ear- 
nest," said  the  doctor.  "Even  in  the 
palmy  days  at  Bath  with  Lady  Betty  Kew, 
you  never  wrote  to  your  mother." 

"Don't  be  teasing  me,  Greg.  They 
were  calf  days." 

"You  wanted  to  call  me  out  for  saying 
that  very  same  thing,"  replied  the  old 
man,  smiling. 

"Dear  old  Greg,  did  I  want  to  fight 
you?"  asked  the  Major,  affectionately. 

"You  did  indeed.  But  I  must  be 
off."  He  threw  his  big  cloak  about  him 
and  drew  on  his  gloves.  On  the  thresh- 
old he  turned  and  said :  "Don't  forget  to 
tell  Miss  Towneshend  there  will  be  a  little 
company  of  officers  here  to-morrow  night, 
and  that  they  must  not  be  disturbed." 

"It's  too  much  like  giving  orders  to  a 
queen,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"But  you  must,  Jack.  The  plan  of 
126 


A    PEOPOSAL 

attack  is  to  be  given  out,  and  there  must 
be  absolutely  no  interruption." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  answered  the  Major, 
gloomily. 

"I'll  tell  her  myself,  if  you'd  rather." 

"No,  no,"  interposed  D'Arcy,  hastily. 
A  poor  excuse  to  speak  with  her  was 
better  than  none  to  him.  "I'll  go  to  her 
at  once,"  he  added. 

"Good"  said  Gregory,  and  he  went  out. 

D'Arcy's  "at  once"  stretched  over  five 
minutes,  during  which  he  stood  gazing  at 
the  letter,  which  he  still  held  in  his  hand. 
It  puzzled  and  discomfited  him.  The 
thought  of  a  rival  had  never  crossed  hia 
mind,  and  he  was  now  inwardly  cursing  at 
the  folly,  that  could  have  hoaxed  him  into 
thinking,  that  so  fair  a  creature  as  Pamela 
could  have  wasted  her  sweetness  upon  a 
townful  of  unsusceptible  provincial  gal- 
lants. He  could  have  withstood  her 
silent,  haughty  dislike  and  disdain,  forti- 
fying himself  with  hope;  but  the  young 
Irishman  was  too  much  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  possessed  too  keen  a  knowledge 
of  women,  to  doubt  that  this  peerless  one, 
upon  whom  his  heart  was  set,  would  ever 
127 


D'AECY  of  the  GUAEDS 

plight  herself  lightly.  If  she  loved  once, 
those  eyes  and  that  proud  mouth  told  him, 
she  would  love  forever,  and  he  was  filled 
with  a  sort  of  numb  despair. 

He  pulled  himself  together  with  an 
effort  and  moved  toward  the  door.  His 
hand  was  outstretched  for  the  knob,  when 
it  opened  and  Pamela  rushed  almost  into 
his  arms. 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons,  Miss 
Towneshend,"  he  said,  bowing. 

"The  fault  was  mine,"  she  answered, 
recovering  herself.  Her  eyes  avoided  his, 
and  glanced  quickly  about  the  floor  of  the 
room. 

"You  are  searching  for  something?"  he 
asked,  almost  timidly. 

"Yes.  I  dropped  a  letter,  I  think, 
when  I  was  here  a  while  ago." 

"May  this  chance  to  be  it?"  said 
D'Arcy,  holding  it  out. 

The  crimson  flew  to  her  cheeks  for  a 
moment,  then  she  said  quite  steadily: 
"Yes,  that  is  it.  It  was  very  stupid  of 
me." 

"I  was  about  to  bring  it  to  you.     Cap- 
tain Gregory  picked  it  up." 
128 


A    PROPOSAL 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you."  She  had 
recovered  her  composure  now,  and  was 
turning  to  leave  him. 

"Miss  Towneshend, "  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"May  I  speak  with  yon  one  moment?" 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"A  small  company  of  officers  is  to  meet 

here     to-morrow     night,     and "     he 

hesitated. 

"Yes."  Her  voice  was  as  cold  and 
colorless  as  ice. 

"May  we  have  a — a — undisturbed  pos- 
session of  this  room?"  stammered  D'Arcy. 

"You  mean  that  you  will  require  the 
household  to  retire  early?"  she  asked. 

"You  interpret  my  request  harshly,  Miss 
Towneshend." 

"I  save  you  that  trouble,"  answered 
the  girl,  and  there  was  that  in  her  voice 
and  look  which  called  quick  protest  from 
him. 

"Believe  me,  Miss  Towneshend,  if  it 
will  in  any  way  inconvenience  you,  I  will 
do  my  best  to  have  the  rendezvous 
changed." 

She  felt  the  remonstrance,  but  the  anger 
129 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

deep  in  her,  refused  to  let  her  see  the 
young  officer's  gentle  intention.  The 
deferential,  almost  humble,  figure  before 
her,  brought  nothing  but  a  full  conscious- 
ness of  his  being  an  intruder ;  badged  with 
his  coat  of  scarlet,  he  represented  to  her 
all  that  was  hateful  and  despicable. 

"Major  D'Arcy,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "you  and  your  companions  in  arms 
have  occupied  Philadelphia,  now  for  near 
three  months.  Every  day  of  that  occu- 
pation has  been  a  source  of  inconvenience 
and  bitterness  to  all  loyal  Americans  in  the 
town.  I  don't  complain ;  it's  all  the  for- 
tune of  war.  But  it  is  no  kindness  to  me 
to  mask  your  demands  under  guise  of 
courteous  request." 

"You  wrong  my  intention,  Miss  Towne- 
shend,"  he  said,  feelingly,  humiliated,  that 
this  girl,  of  all  girls,  should  so  misunder- 
stand him. 

"I  have  no  wish,"  she  answered,  "to 
profit  by  any  special  consideration  on  your 
part." 

"You  make  me  ashamed  of  my  uniform, 
Miss  Towneshend." 

"Every  British  officer  should  have 
130 


A    PKOPOSAL 

broken  his  sword  rather  than  have  turned 
it  against  people  of  his  own  blood,  fighting 
justly,"  burst  out  Pamela,  passionately. 

"You  speak  from  the  heart,"  he  said, 
and  he  could  feel  himself  all  of  a 
quiver. 

"That  is  where  I  feel,"  she  answered. 

And  then  with  some  unaccountable 
emotional  impulse,  D  'Arcy  felt  every  trace 
of  reserve  swept  from  him.  He  knew 
only  that  the  girl  he  loved  stood  before 
him,  defiant,  cold,  hard;  and  he  felt  irre- 
sistibly that  he  must  tell  her,  must  show 
her,  how  he  felt. 

"I  would  give  my  sword — or  break  it 
gladly,  for  some  small  place  there,"  he 
said,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  while  his 
eyes  met  hers,  straight  and  compel  - 
lingly. 

"Major  D'Arcy!"  she  exclaimed,  scorn- 
fully, her  eyes  blazing  into  his.  Then  she 
moved  away,  but  he  stood  in  front  of  the 
door.  There  was  something  of  her  own 
defiance  and  resentment  in  his  face  now, 
but  his  voice  pleaded  for  him. 

"Don't  turn  away,  Miss  Towneshend. 
No  girl  need  be  afraid  of  a  tale  of  honest 
131 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

love.  And — and,"  he  faltered,  "I  have 
such  a  tale  to  tell.' 

"I  cannot  listen  to  you.  Let  me  pass," 
she  cried. 

"I  must  speak,  Miss  Towneshend,"  he 
said,  quietly,  and  for  the  moment  she  felt 
herself  powerless  under  his  intensity. 
"Ever  since  that  autumn  morning  three 
months  ago,  when  I  came  into  your  gar- 
den, and  saw  you  standing  like  some  lovely 
flower,  I  have  loved  you.  Don't  shrink 
from  me;  it's  no  crime  for  a  man  to  bend 
to  the  fragrance  of  a  rose,  and  my  lips 
would  prove  recreant  to  my  heart  if  they 
refused  longer  to  speak." 

"Major  D'Arcy,"  she  answered,  with  a 
sort  of  breathlessness,  "you  take  advan- 
tage of  your  position  in  this  house  to  speak 
in  a  manner  that  you  must  know  is  distaste- 
ful to  me." 

"God  forgive  you,  Miss  Towneshend, 
for  doubting  my  motives.  I  could  stand 
your  indifference  to  the  little  I  have  to 
offer — my  life :  as  much  as  any  man  could 
give ;  but  your  scorn  humbles  me  beyond 
the  telling,  showing,  as  it  does,  how  little 
you  understand  what  I  wish." 

132 


A    PROPOSAL 

"I  could  not  desire  to  understand  what 
you  wish,"  answered  the  girl,  recovering 
herself  somewhat,  "and  as  for  doubting 
your  motives,  an  American  woman  has 
no  other  alternative.  To  be  loyal  to  her 
country,  she  must  bo  loyal  to  herself;  an 
enemy  to  one  is  an  enemy  to  both ;  and  I 
beg  of  you,  if  you  are  what  common  report 
credits  you  with  being — a  gentleman  by 
birth  and  breeding — that  you  will  never 
refer  again  to  a  subject  that  can  but  be 
painful  to  us  both." 

Her  words  were  like  lashes  in  the  face 
of  the  man,  and  when  she  had  finished 
every  muscle  was  strung  tight,  and  his 
face  was  set  like  a  mask. 

"I  trust  Miss  Towneshend  will  pardon 
my  indiscretion,"  he  said.  "I  have  the 
honor  to  bid  you  good  morning,"  and 
bowing  very  low,  he  turned  toward  the 
door,  throwing  his  cloak  about  him  as  he 
went. 

"This  apartment  will  be  quite  at  your 
service  to  -  morrow  evening,  as  you  re- 
quest, ' '  said  Pamela. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  bowing  once 
more  he  passed  out,  and  she  heard  the  big 
133 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

hall  door  shut  after  him.  A  moment  later 
she  could  see  him  through  the  window, 
bending  against  the  wind,  pass  down  the 
gardens. 


134 


CHAPTER    XII 


A    VISITOR 


The  girl  stood  quite  still,  just  where  he 
left  her.  Her  mind  was  in  a  tumult,  and 
she  had  an  overwhelming  sense  of  let- 
down ;  she  had  braced  herself  for  a  climax, 
and  it  hadn't  come  off.  The  enemy  had 
retreated  ignominiously,  but  she  had  none 
of  the  inspiring  elation  of  victory.  There 
was  a  something  in  his  voice  too,  that  still 
rang  in  her  ears,  and  she  would  never,  to 
her  dying  day,  forget  the  look  in  those 
eyes.  Did  the  victory  really  belong  to 
her?  was  the  question  with  which  she  tor- 
tured herself.  Before  she  had  chance  to 
answer,  in  a  way  that  would  satisfy  her 
vanity,  she  was  summarily  interrupted  by 
the  quick  entrance  of  Cynthia,  whose  face 
was  aglow. 

"Oh,  he's  come,  Pamela,  he's  come!" 
she  gasped. 

"Ned!"    cried    Pamela,  casting  intro- 
spection to  the  winds. 
135 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Yes,  he's  here." 

"Where?" 

Cynthia  turned  to  the  open  door  for 
answer,  and  called  down  the  passage: 
"Ned,  it 's  all  right.     Come. ' ' 

A  moment  later  she  was  in  his  arms, 
her  flaming  face  against  his  cold  cheek. 

"Ned!"  was  all  she  could  murmur. 

"Sis,  dear,  here  I  am.  You  got  my 
note?" 

"Not  half  an  hour  ago,"  said  Cynthia, 
hovering  about,  a  light  in  her  eyes. 

"You  should  have  brought  it  yourself," 
said  Pamela,  gayly,  standing  off  to  survey 
him,  her  eyes  taking  in  every  detail  of  his 
disguise,  from  the  stout  shoes  and  woolen 
stockings  to  the  rough  great  -  coat  that 
enveloped  him. 

"It  would  have  been  safer,"  he  laughed. 
"I  had  a  hard  time  getting  through. 
The  roads  are  more  carefully  guarded 
than  before.  I  thought  they  were  after 
me  once,  but  I  gave  'em  the  slip." 

"It  was  dangerous  venturing  by  day," 
said  Pamela. 

"It  would  have  been  worse  by  night. 
How  is  mother?" 

136 


A  VISITOR 

"I'll  go  and  tell  her  you  are  here.  She 
couldn't  stand  having  you  burst  in  on 
her,"  said  Cynthia,  and  she  was  off  like  a 
flash,  to  be  back  the  quicker. 

The  brother  and  sister,  left  alone,  had  a 
thousand  questions,  treasured  through  the 
long  weeks,  and  the  talk  was  fast. 
Answers  came  through  the  glance  of  an 
eye  or  the  pressure  of  hand.  They  filled 
the  precious  minutes  to  the  brim,  with  all 
that  the  long  absences  denied  them. 

"And  do  your  lodgers  give  you  any 
trouble?"  he  asked,  after  a  while.  "Are 
they  well-behaved  and  considerate?" 

"They  are  models,  Ned,"  she  answered, 
"and  are  really  a  great  protection  for  us." 

"That  Irish  Major,  what's  his  name? 
Does  he  behave  civilly  and  treat  you  with 
respect?" 

"He's  very  nice — for  a  red-coat,"  said 
Pamela. 

"I  have  heard  as  much." 

"You  have  heard  of  him?"  she  ques- 
tioned, and  the  interest  with  which  she 
asked  it,  astonished  herself. 

"Yes,"  said  Towneshend.  "Curiously 
enough,  the  young  Marquis  de  Lafayette, 
137 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

whom  I  told  you  about,  met  him  in  Paris 
several  years  ago,  and  speaks  very  highly 
of  him." 

"Tell  me,  what  did  he  say?"  She 
could  have  bitten  through  her  wayward 
tongue,  and  her  cheeks  were  playing  her 
false,  too. 

"Oh,  he  said  he  was  once  on  the  British 
embassy  at  Paris,  and  was  a  son  of  Lord 
D'Arcy." 

"Is  that  all?"  she  asked. 

The  obtuseness  of  a  brother  was  hardly 
proof  against  the  disappointment  in  her 
voice. 

"See  here!"  he  cried,  taking  her  hands 
and  laughing  out.  "The  Major  hasn't 
been  recruiting  in  the  household,  has  he?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  with 
wonder-wide  eyes,  repairing  her  defenses. 

"The  red-coat  is  not  proving  too  attract- 
ive, eh,  Sis?" 

"You  stupid  boy.  If  you  but  knew  how 
I  despised  him!"  she  said,  and  convinced 
him  thoroughly — and  almost  herself. 

The  banter  went  on.     Their  spirits  rose 
joyously,  only  at  their  height  to  be  plunged 
into  terror,  not  many  minutes  later. 
138 


A  VISITOR 

It  was  the  alert  ear  of  the  young  officer 
that  caught  the  sound  of  tramping  feet. 

"What  was  that?"  he  cried  sharply, 
springing  up. 

"What?"  questioned  Pamela,  the  note 
of  concern  in  his  voice  gripping  her. 

"I  thought  I  heard  something." 

"Your  imagination,  dear,"  she  said,  as 
he  stepped  to  the  window.  He  held  the 
curtains  aside  for  an  instant,  and  then 
jumped  back  with  an  oath. 

"Imagination,  the  devil,  Pamela!  Do 
you  see  those  red-jackets  going  around  the 
corner  of  the  house?" 

"Soldiers?"  gasped  the  girl.     "Where?" 

She  was  answered  by  Cynthia,  who  at 
that  moment  burst  into  the  room,  fear  in 
every  line  of  her  face. 

"Ned,  Ned!"  she  cried,  "the  house  is 
surrounded!     What  are  we  to  do?" 

Disciplined  in  danger,  once  the  first 
shock  of  surprise  had  swept  over  him,  the 
young  officer  had  himself  well  in  hand. 
No  one  knew  better  his  fate,  if  captured, 
and  his  calmness  surprised  even  the  two 
girls  who  knew  his  iron  restraint. 

"I  felt  that  I  hadn't  thrown  'em  off 
139 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

the  track,"  he  said  quietly,  drawing  a 
pistol  from  his  pocket.  "I  must  make  a 
run  for  it." 

"It  would  be  folly,"  cried  Pamela. 
"They  would  shoot  you  down  before  you 
had  gone  ten  steps." 

"I  can't  be  taken,"  said  the  young 
officer,  grimly.  "I  am  within  the 
enemy's  lines  disguised.     That  means — " 

"Ssh!"  murmured  Cynthia,  putting  her 
hand  over  his  mouth  to  push  back  the  hor- 
rid word.     "What  shall  we  do,  Pamela?" 

"There  is  only  one  thing  to  do," 
answered  the  girl.  "Come  this  way," 
she  said,  and  moved  toward  the  door 
across  the  room. 

"Where?"  he  questioned,  doubtfully, 
but  following. 

"The  old  spare  chambers,"  answered 
Pamela.  "Major  D'Arcy  and  Captain 
Gregory  occupy  them.  Find  mother, 
Cynthia,"  she  said,  turning  to  her  cousin, 
"and  see  that  she  is  not  alarmed." 

With  a  cry,  the  girl  threw  herself  in 
Towneshend's  arms. 

"There,  there,  dear,"  he  said,  gently, 
"I'll  outwit  them  yet." 
140 


A  VISITOR 

"I'm  afraid,"  she  sobbed. 

"Come,"  said  Pamela,  holding  open  the 
door.  "They  will  not  enter  here,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"They  will  never  take  me  if  they  do," 
said  Towneshend,  quietly,  and  he  gripped 
his  pistol  significantly. 

"No,  no,  not  that,"  pleaded  Cynthia. 

"Go,  Cynthia,  dear,"  said  Pamela,  and 
the  girl  shrank  from  the  room. 

"I  will  stand  guard  here,"  went  on 
Pamela.  "My  wits  will  keep  them  at 
bay,  I  think." 

"What  a  home-coming  is  this,  Sis!" 
answered  the  lad,  lingering.  But  with 
a  hasty  kiss,  she  pushed  him  in,  closed 
the  door,  and  turning  the  key,  put  it 
in  her  pocket.  Sue  scarce  had  time 
to  shift  her  position  to  the  front  of 
the  fire,  when  the  door  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  room  was  flung  open, 
and  a  sergeant  with  a  file  of  men 
marched  in. 

The  girl,  tremulous,  and  fear -stricken 

within,  held  her  head  high,  and  swept  the 

intruders     with     an     indignant     glance. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion?" 

141 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

she  asked,  as  the  file  drew  up  and  the 
sergeant  stepped  forward. 

"A  rebel  spy  has  been  traced  to  this 
house.  Have  orders  to  search  every  apart- 
ment," said  the  man,  curtly. 

"There  are  no  apartments  on  this  side 
of  the  house,"  answered  Pamela. 

"Where  does  that  door  lead?"  he 
questioned,  stepping  across  the  room. 

"Oh,  there  is  a  suite  of  chambers  there, 
but  they  are  occupied,"  said  the  girl,  her 
heart  pounding,  but  showing  no  trace  of 
it  in  the  carefully-steadied  voice. 

"It's  locked,"  the  sergeant  said,  trying 
the  door. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Pamela. 

"Where  is  the  key?" 

"One  might  imagine  the  occupant 
would  have  it."  She  was  struggling  for 
time  desperately. 

"We'll  have  the  door  down,  Corporal," 
he  said,  and  one  of  the  grenadiers  stepped 
forward. 

"I  doubt  if  Major  D'Arcy  will  care  for 
that,"  she  remarked,  quietly,  so  quietly 
that  it  sounded  to  herself  like  a  far-away 
whisper. 

143 


A  VISITOR 

"Major  who?"  questioned  the  sergeant, 
sharply. 

"Major  D'Arcy,  of  the  Grenadier 
Guards." 

"Is  he  quartered  here?"  asked  the  man, 
suspiciously. 

"I  have  said  so,"  she  answered. 

"Why  is  the  door  locked?" 

"Major  D'Arcy  is  at  headquarters  and 
will  no  doubt  give  you  any  information 
you  require — and  perhaps  even  the  keys." 

There  was  hurried  whispering  between 
the  corporal  and  sergeant,  while  hope 
struggled  feebly  to  rise  in  her ;  only  to  be 
dashed  back  a  moment  later,  when  the 
sergeant  said  gruffly:  "We'll  go  in,  any- 
how." 

"As  you  please,"  replied  Pamela, 
firmly,  though  her  lip  quivered  and  she 
could  feel  her  knees  bend  under  her. 

She  couldn't  have  told  the  time  that 
passed,  her  mind  seemed  stretched  across 
eternity ;  she  was  conscious  of  seeing  the 
broad  red  shoulders  shoved  against  the 
door,  which  resisted  stoutly,  then  like  a 
flash  the  door  to  the  hall  banged  open,  and 
D'Arcy  strode  in. 

143 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried,  looking  about 
the  room,  and  the  anger  in  his  voice  was 
savage. 

"We  are  on  the  track  of  a  rebel  spy, 
Major,"  answered  the  astounded  sergeant, 
"and  Captain  Dacier  has  ordered  us  to 
search  the  house." 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Towneshend, 
that  you  have  been  subjected  to  this 
annoyance,"  said  D'Arcy,  turning  to  the 
girl. 

"Pray,  Major  D'Arcy,  don't  consider 
me  in  the  matter.  Yours  would  have 
been  the  annoyance. ' ' 

"Mine?"  he  questioned,  puzzled. 

"They  were  about  to  break  into  your 
chambers." 

"Is  the  door  locked?"  asked  D'Arcy,  in 
surprise. 

"It  is  locked,"  answered  Pamela, 
steadily,  and  her  eyes  held  him. 

"The  lady  said  you  would  know  why  it 
was  locked,  sir,  and  that  you  had  the 
key." 

D'Arcy  didn't  appear  to  hear,  his  face 
never  moved  from  that  of  the  girl's  before 
him,  but  he  answered  sharply:  "Quite 
144 


A  VISITOR 

right,  Sergeant.  You  may  withdraw 
your  men  to  the  gardens." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  man,  saluting. 
"What  shall  I  tell  the  captain?" 

"That  I  wish  to  see  him  here." 

"Yes,  sir." 

There  was  a  quick  word  of  command, 
the  rattle  of  arms,  and  the  squad  melted 
from  the  room,  leaving  the  two  face  to 
face. 


145 


CHAPTER    XIII 


MISTAKEN    IDENTITY 


For  Pamela  the  harder  task  remained, 
and  as  she  stood  there  with  clenched 
hands,  a  sense  of  futility  and  powerlessness 
overcame  her,  and  she  knew  that  her  nerve 
was  gone ;  in  a  moment  the  whole  secret 
would  be  his,  as  part  of  it  was  already, 
and  she  would  be  crying  for  mercy  to  the 
man  who  not  an  hour  before  had  been  at 
her  feet.  She  would  have  borne  the  tor- 
tures of  the  rack  rather  than  beg  for  her- 
self;  but  for  him,  Ned,  her  brother,  any 
abasement,  rather  than  that  he  should 
suffer.  Was  this  cold,  self-possessed  man 
standing  before  her  the  same  gracious, 
half -timid,  suppliant  person  who  had  pled 
with  her?  Would  he  listen?  Would  he 
believe  her  oath,  that  her  Ned  was  not  a 
spy? 

The  agony  of  these  and  a  hundred 
other  doubtful  questions  fluttered  her 
mind,  and  showed  in  her  face,  and  every 
147 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

gentle,  pitying  instinct  in  D'Arcy  felt  for 
her.  And  yet  feeling  seemed  dead  within 
him.  She  was  fighting  for  the  man  she 
loved,  and  Chance  had  chosen  him  for  her 
antagonist.  He,  of  all  persons  in  the 
world,  was  bidden  to  save  or  destroy  her 
lover,  and  either  way  to  destroy  himself. 
The  grim  irony  of  it  forced  a  smile  to  his 
lips,  and  seeing  it  she  spoke,  stepping 
toward  him  and  holding  out  the  key. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said. 

"He  is  there?"  asked  D'Arcy, 
mechanically. 

"I  swear  to  you  he  is  not  a  spy,"  she 
burst  out,  passionately. 

"You  love  him?"  he  said. 

"As  my  life!"  she  cried.  "I  throw 
myself  on  your  generosity.  Appearances 
are  against  him,  I  know ;  he  is  disguised, 
but  it  was  only  his  eagerness  to  get  here, 
only  that." 

"I  can  understand,"  he  replied,  but 
there  was  no  interest  in  his  voice;  he 
spoke  in  a  dull  monotone.  He  knew  how 
this  girl  could  love,  if  she  ever  did  love ; 
the  thought  of  it  had  haunted  him  all 
these  weeks  past,  and  now  he,  who  had 
148 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

dreamed  dreams,  was  awakened  to  what? 
To  the  bitter  reality,  that  it  was  not 
for  him.  Should  it  be  for  that  other 
hiding  there,  whose  fate  he  held  in  his 
hand? 

She  could  see  the  struggle  in  him. 
"Don't  give  him  up,"  she  cried.  "He's 
too  young  to  die,  and  they  would  hang 
him.  Oh,  God,  can't  you  see  it  would 
break  my  heart?    Have  some  pity." 

"Miss  Towneshend,  can  you  swear  on 
your  honor  that  he  is  not  within  our  lines 
to  seek  information?"  he  asked. 

"I  swear  it,"  said  Pamela. 

His  eyes  seemed  to  touch  her  soul,  and 
he  knew  that  she  spoke  truth. 

"I  exceed  my  authority,"  he  said,  "but 
I  will  save  him  if  I  can." 

"I  thank  you,"  said  Pamela,  humbly. 

"Don't,"  he  murmured.  "My  reward 
is  that  light  in  your  eyes.  Take  this 
key,"  he  added.  "I  must  go  to  Dacier. 
I  will  return  in  a  moment."  And  he 
hurried  out. 

Captain  Dacier  had  but  just  received  his 
message  from  the  sergeant  and  was  com- 
ing toward  the  house.  They  met  on  the 
149 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

steps,  and  D'Arcy's  salute  was  of  the 
coolest. 

"Sergeant  Trip  informed  me  that  you 
wanted  to  see  me,"  said  the  Captain. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Major,  "he  was  quite 
unwarrantably  trying  to  force  his  way  into 
my  apartments." 

"But  there  is  a  spy  in  the  house." 

"I  doubt  it,"  said  D'Arcy,  curtly. 
"You  have  searched  thoroughly?"  he 
asked. 

"Almost  entirely,"  answered  Dacier. 

"Well,  my  rooms  were  locked,  and  I 
have  the  key." 

"He  must  be  somewhere,"  replied  the 
Captain,  nettled. 

"Must  he?"  questioned  D'Arcy, 
quizzically. 

"There  is  some  mystery,"  said  the 
other. 

"Clear  it  up,  by  all  means,"  said 
D'Arcy.  "I  accept  entire  responsibility 
for  any  spy  being  in  the  house,"  he 
added. 

"I  shall  report  the  whole  affair  to  head- 
quarters," Dacier  said,  sharply. 

"They  don't  like  mysteries  at  head- 
150 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

quarters,  Captain  Dacier.      Good   morn- 
ing." 

"Good  morning,  sir." 

The  Captain  turned  on  his  heel  mutter- 
ing, and  D'Arcy,  standing  there,  watched 
the  company  of  Grenadiers  file  out,  a 
moment  later,  into  the  road. 

He  turned  back  into  the  house,  but  his 
moment  of  Quixotic  enthusiasm  had 
passed,  and  it  was  listlessly  that  he  again 
entered  the  library.  His  cheeks  tingled 
at  the  sight  which  met  his  eyes.  She 
might  have  spared  him  that,  was  the 
thought  that  dashed  through  his  head,  as 
he  saw  her  standing  with  her  arms  around 
the  neck  of  a  great-coated  figure,  that 
towered  above  her. 

"It  is  Major  D'Arcy,"  she  cried 
joyously,  turning  to  him.  "Ned,  he 
saved  you.  Major  D'Arcy,"  she  said,  "I 
wish  to  present  my  brother,  Captain 
Towneshend." 

"Your  brother?"  gasped  the  Irishman, 
doubt  and  delight  struggling  hard  to  get 
the  better  of  him.  "Miss  Towneshend, 
do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  it  is  your 
brother  I  have  saved?" 
151 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"No  other,"  said  Pamela.  "Who  else 
could  he  have  been?" 

"He  could  have  been  the  man  I  would 
have  hated  most  in  the  world,"  answered 
D'Arcy,  radiant.  "Captain  Towne- 
shend,"  he  said,  stepping  to  the  dragoon 
with  outstretched,  welcome  hand,  "it  is  a 
privilege  to  meet  you,  sir." 

"I  don't  know  how  you  accomplished 
it,"  said  Towneshend,  grasping  the 
other's  hand,  "but  I  am  mightily  obliged 
to  you." 

"And  I,"  said  Pamela,  looking  at  him 
curiously,  "can  never  tell  you."  She  put 
out  her  hand,  and  D'Arcy  took  it  gently  to 
his  lips,  the  blood  surging  at  mad  pace  to 
his  head. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  as  dusk  was 
falling,  that  D'Arcy  and  Towneshend  rode 
away  from  the  house,  and  they  had  ridden 
some  miles  before  the  British  officer, 
bidding  his  companion  good-bye  and 
God-speed,  turned  his  own  horse  in  the 
direction  of  the  town.  The  stars 
twinkling  frostily  on  him,  as  he  sped,  had 
a  new  message  for  him  that  night,  and 
Hope  was  the  burden  of  it. 
152 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

Supping  at  mess  later,  he  was  the  life 
of  the  whole  table,  reminiscent  of  the 
old-time  D'Arcy;  sparkling,  witty,  flip- 
pant, and  gay.  His  jests  bubbled  and 
overflowed,  swamping  the  youngsters  in 
exuberant  joy,  and  the  oldsters  too,  for 
that  matter,  though  their  satisfaction  was 
less  ebullient. 

He  tore  himself  away  early,  however, 
for  he  was  not  unmindful  of  certain  awk- 
ward questions  which  might  arise  from 
Dacier's  representations,  at  headquarters, 
of  the  morning's  happenings.  Piquet  till 
midnight  with  the  chief,  and  an  incidental 
loss  of  thirty  or  forty  guineas,  set  that 
right  though,  if  it  really  needed  any  ad- 
justment ;  for  my  Lord  Cornwallis  had  a 
special  liking  for  his  dashing,  good- 
humored  aide. 

Gregory,  slippered  and  drowsy,  in  front 
of  the  fire,  was  struggling  valiantly  to 
keep  his  pipe-bowl  hot  when  D'Arcy  came 
in.  They  had  not  met  since  early  morn- 
ing, and  the  old  man  was  eager  to  hear  the 
Major's  budget  of  news.  News  he  had, 
the  doctor  was  quite  sure,  as  he  watched 
him  unbuckle  sword  and  cloak,  but  he 
153 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

was  wise  enough  to  wait  for  it,  and  let  it 
come  as  it  would.  Glasses  were  filled  and 
D'Arcy  called  the  toast:  "To  the  fairest 
maid  in  all  the  world." 

"With  all  my  heart,  Jack.  The  little 
rebel?" 

"Egad,  Greg,  she's  a  loyal  rebel.  I 
adore  her.     She  gave  me  her  hand " 

"What!"  said  the  doctor,  sitting  up 
straight.  "She  gave  you  her  hand? 
Have  you  asked  her  to  marry  you  already?" 

"Of  course  I  asked  her,"  said  D'Arcy, 
"and  she  refused  me  with  the  air  of  the 
duchess  that  she  is." 

"But  you  just  said  she  gave  you  her 
hand,"  Gregory  said,  puzzled. 

"Oh,  you  silly  old  Greg.  That  was 
afterward,  and  she  gave  it  to  me  to  kiss." 

"Little  baggage !"  ejaculated  the  doctor. 
"Jack,  she's  trifling  with  you." 

"That's  the  point,  Greg,"  answered 
D'Arcy,  gaily.  "It's  me  she's  trifling 
with — and  no  one  else — mind  that. ' ' 

"What's  become  of  t'other  fellow,  the 
mysterious  man  of  disguise?"  questioned 
the  old  man,  hopelessly  at  sea. 

"Ah,  he's  a  jewel,  Greg.  I  could  love 
154 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

him  as  a  brother — if  I  had  the  chance," 
laughed  the  Irishman. 

"You  saw  him?" 

"I  did,  indeed." 

"Where?" 

"Here.  He  spent  most  of  the  after- 
noon with  his  sweetheart,  and  at  five 
o'clock  I  gave  him  my  company  for  five 
miles,  on  his  way  back  to  the  rebel 
camp." 

"I  give  it  up,  Jack,"  said  the  doctor. 
"You're  either  out  of  your  head  or  talk- 
ing riddles." 

"If  you'd  not  be  interrupting  every 
second,  Captain  Gregory,  I  could  tell  a 
straightforward  tale;  and  a  very  pretty 
one  it  is." 

"Go  on,  I'll  not  stop  you." 

"I'll  begin  at  the  end,"  began  D'Arcy. 

"As  usual,"  the  doctor  couldn't  help 
putting  in. 

D'Arcy  drew  a  deep  puff  from  his 
pipe,  and  kept  silent  for  a  couple  of 
minutes,  to  punish  him.  Then  he  went 
on:  "A\rell,  his  sweetheart  is  not  mine, 
Greg." 

"I  can  readily  believe  that." 
155 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Oh,  you  stupid  old  Greg!  You  don't 
mean  what  I  mean." 

"What  do  I  mean?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"You  mean  that  we  are  both  in  love 
with  the  same  girl.  And  so  we  are,"  he 
added,  "but  in  a  different  way." 

"And  you  compromised  on  that  basis, 
did  you,  Jack?"  asked  Gregory,  with  deep 
irony. 

"Yes,  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  his 
way;  he's  her  brother,  Greg." 

"Her  brother!"  ejaculated  Gregory. 

"No  less — and  thank  heaven,  no  more," 
answered  the  Irishman. 

"And  pray,  who  is  Ms  sweetheart?" 

"Why,  his  cousin,  Miss  Cynthia,  you 
blockhead." 

"It's  like  one  of  Mr.  Garrick's  comedies, 
Jack." 

"It's  better;  it's  real,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"But  why  did  she  give  you  her  hand  to 
kiss,  if  she  wouldn't  give  it  to  you  to 
keep?"  questioned  Gregory. 

"You  know  not  the  ways  of  women, 
Greg.  Your  flinty  heart  has  never  been 
touched  by  experience." 

"Your  experience  with  'em  seems  to 
15b 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

have  been  of  much  value  to  you,  Jack," 
answered  the  other,  with  a  snort. 

"Faith,  Greg,  every  woman  is  a  new 
experience." 

"It's  a  long  lesson,"  answered  the  old 
man,  dubiously. 

"But  a  pleasant  one,  and  always  worth 
the  learning." 

"You  should  know;  you've  been  con- 
stantly at  school,"  said  the  doctor. 

"And  my  latest  school-mistress  is  the 
best,"  cried  D'Arcy. 

"Because  she's  given  you  a  harder  task, " 
laughed  Gregory.  ' '  The  rest  were  too  eager 
for  that  fastidious  dandy,  Jack  D'Arcy." 

"Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  fools! 
Faith,  Greg,  you  speak  wisdom.  You've 
summed  up  the  whole  philosophy  of  love : 
what  we  can't  have,  we  want;  and  we 
flout  whatever  shows  us  favor." 

"It's  an  ungallant  philosophy,"  puffed 
the  old  man. 

"Ah,  philosophy  has  no  manners  at  all, 
Greg." 

"Which  brings  us  back  to  the  statement 
that  Miss  Towneshend  allowed  you  to  kiss 
her  hand." 

157 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"It  was  gratitude,  Greg;  but  it  was 
sweeter  than  any  other  woman's  favor." 

"Gratitude?" 

"I  saved  her  brother,"  said  D'Arcy. 
4  'Dacier  had  a  file  of  the  Guards  here,  and 
they  would  have  strung  him  up  as  sure  as 
they  would  have  laid,  hands  on  him.  I 
threw  'em  off  the  scent." 

"What  if  he  was  really  a  spy?"  ques- 
tioned Gregory,  with  concern. 

"She  swore  he  wasn't." 

"Naturally,"  grunted  the  doctor. 

"Have  you  ever  looked  in  her  eyes, 
Greg?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"No,  I  haven't." 

"You'd  never  doubt  her  word  if  you 
had." 

"I'd  never  look  in  a  woman's  eyes  for 
the  truth,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"I  know  that,  Greg.  Truth  is  a  will- 
o'-the-wisp,  and  eludes  all  such  crabbed 
old  bachelors  as  yourself." 

"But  was  it  discretion?"  asked  the  old 
man. 

"No.  It  was  love,"  answered  D'Arcy, 
and  Gregory  saw  that  he  was  proof  against 
any  subtle  casuistry. 

158 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

"If  the  lady  refused  your  suit,  why  are 
you  so  happy  to-night?"  he  asked. 

"Because  I  was  able  to  serve  her." 

"You  still  have  hope?"  questioned  the 
doctor. 

"I  have,"  answered  D'Arcy. 

"Well,"  said  Gregory,  leaning  over  and 
clapping  him  on  the  back,  "you  deserve 
her,  Jack,  and  may  you  win  her." 

"She'll  never  have  me  as  long  as  I  wear 
a  red  coat,"  laughed  the  Irishman. 

"Damme,  get  a  bottle-green  one  then, 
or  any  color  that  the  wench  wants," 
exclaimed  the  doctor,  testily. 

"If  I  come  out  of  to-morrow's  scrim- 
mage whole,  Greg,  I'll  sell  out,"  said 
D'Arcy. 

"Fudge!" 

"I  mean  it,"  went  on  the  Major.  "If 
she  won 't  listen  to  a  soldier,  she  may  listen 
to  a  civilian." 

"If  you  give  up  your  sword,  Jack,  she'll 
want  it  back.     The  sex  is  wayward." 

"Then  she  shall  have  it.  Her  wish  is 
law  to  me." 

"Well,  let's  sleep  on  it,"  said  Gregory, 
rising.  And  they  did;  the  one  soundly, 
159 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

the  other  fretfully,  dreaming  dreams  once 
more.  While  neither  had  prevision  of 
the  calamity  that  was  to  fall  on  the  mor- 
row. 


160 


CHAPTER  XIV 


A   COUNCIL  OP  WAR 


Two  young  people  under  the  Towne- 
shend  roof  opened  their  eyes  the  following 
morning  on  a  new  world.  To  Pamela, 
early  awake,  but  lying  in  her  chintzed, 
four-posted  bed,  long  beyond  the  house- 
wife's hour,  the  consciousness  of  it  was 
obscure,  though  in  full  possession  of  her. 
She  strove  to  see  the  events  of  the  day 
before,  in  rightful  sequence,  first  forward, 
then  back,  only  to  be  baffled  time  and 
again  by  the  inconsequent  obtrusion  in 
her  mind,  of  a  gallant,  scarlet-coated 
figure,  that  dominated  the  whole,  and 
refused  to  be  banished.  It  irritated  her; 
she  was  restless  and  uncomfortable;  new 
conditions  seemed  to  have  arisen  in  the 
night  to  surround  and  hem  her  in. 
Something,  she  knew  not  what,  curbed  the 
joyous  sense  of  freedom  and  personal  inde- 
pendence in  which  she  gloried — and  he 
had  kissed  her  hand.  With  a  flush,  she 
161 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

remembered  that  she  had  given  it  to  him 
for  that  purpose.  "And  why  not?"  she 
cried,  petulantly,  pulling  the  bell-cord  to 
summon  her  maid.  There  was  no  answer 
to  her  question,  and  Cicely  was  well 
chidden,  on  her  appearance,  for  tardiness. 

In  fact,  she  was  a  willful  mistress  that 
morning,  and  changed  places  with  her 
usually  dominating  little  handmaiden. 
An  unsatisfactory  half  hour  was  spent 
before  the  mirror  in  futile  attempts  at 
hair  dressing,  that  would  not  go  right. 
Then  frock  after  frock,  and  ribbon  after 
ribbon  was  tossed  aside,  and  the  morning 
was  well  advanced  when  Cynthia,  enter- 
ing the  room,  found  both  her  cousin  and 
Cicely  in  tears.  So  disturbing  is  the 
boundary  crossing  into  an  undiscovered 
country. 

Pamela  kept  in  the  far  parts  of  the  house 
all  day;  away  from  the  book-room,  and 
any  possibility  of  chance  meeting. 

With  D'Arcy  it  was  different.  A 
man's  processes  are  simpler,  his  transitions 
and  adaptations  swifter.  At  the  first 
glimpse  of  dawn,  he  grew  restless,  and  by 
the  time  the  sunshine  twinkled  through 
102 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

the  frosted  panes,  he  was  wide  awake, 
collecting  scattered,  hazy  thoughts,  to 
explain  a  boundless  elation.  He  called 
through  the  open  door  to  Gregory,  sleep- 
ing soundly,  and  called  again,  at  no  sign 
of  response. 

"Eh,  what?  Did  you  call,  Jack?" 
answered  the  old  man  at  last,  starting  up. 

"I  kissed  her  hand,  Greg,"  shouted 
D'Arcy. 

"What?     Kissed  whose  hand?     What 

the    devil "    sputtered   Gregory,   and 

then,  as  a  merry  laugh  came  through  to 
him,  he  flounced  over  indignantly  and  was 
asleep,  leaving  the  youngster  to  wonder 
how  such  an  epoch  event  in  his  life  could 
arouse  so  little  interest  in  his  companion. 
The  color  of  life  for  him  had  changed 
suddenly,  in  hours,  from  somber  to  rose 
tint,  and  he  couldn't  conceive  that  the 
joy  was  all  his.  He  demanded  that  the 
whole  world  should  be  joyous  and  gay 
with  him  and  should  share  his  happiness. 
The  prospect  of  the  day  and  night's  busi- 
ness before  him  cast  a  slight  shadow,  but 
it  passed,  and  when  Gregory  again  awoke 
it  was  to  find  him  in  full  banter  with  his 
163  • 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

servant,  who  was  shaving  and  administer- 
ing the  other  sacred  rites  of  toilet. 

It  was  a  full  day  and  busy  among  the 
conquerors.  Headquarters  was  the  center 
of  galloping  aides,  regimental  and  brigade 
commanders.  Sir  William  Howe  had 
wakened  up.  News  of  the  pitiable  condi- 
tion of  Washington's  little  army,  encamped 
on  the  frozen  hills  about  Valley  Forge,  had 
determined  the  British  commander  to  make 
a  rapid  night  march,  an  early  morning 
attack,  sweep  the  miserable  rebel  remnant 
into  oblivion,  and  end  the  war  once  for 
all.  For  fear  of  miscarriage,  the  project 
had  been  kept  a  profound  secret,  and 
though  the  rank  and  file  felt  intuitively 
that  a  movement  was  on  foot,  not  even 
regimental  commanders  knew  anything  of 
its  character  or  its  object.  It  was 
intended  that  no  inkling  of  the  secret 
should  leak  out  till  just  before  starting, 
and  to  that  purpose  colonels  and  company 
officers  had  been  ordered  to  report  at 
different  meeting-places  to  receive  impor- 
tant instructions.  Colonel  Sir  Edward 
Jennison,  of  the  Guards,  with  his  staff, 
was  to  rendezvous  at  the  Towneshend 
164 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

house,  where  D'Arcy  was  directed  to  bring 
them  full  instructions  and  orders. 

It  was  something  after  eight  in  the 
evening  that  D'Arcy  rapped  on  the 
knocker  of  the  outer  door,  and  was  ad- 
mitted by  Gregory.  The  company  of 
officers  was  already  assembled,  and 
under  guidance  of  the  old  doctor,  had  been 
doing  full  justice  to  a  copious  bowl  of 
deliciously  brewed  punch,  sent  in  by  the 
courtesy  of  Mistress  Towneshend,  as  the 
Captain  whispered  to  Jack.  It  tasted 
nectar  to  the  Major  on  that  account. 
He  was  greeted  uproariously  and  called 
upon  for  a  toast,  but  Sir  Edward  de- 
manded business  first,  and  D'Arcy  pro- 
ceeded to  spread  the  table  with  road -maps, 
plans,  and  orders  for  the  night's  work. 
To  keep  them  flat,  he  drew  two  silver- 
mounted  pistols  from  his  coat  to  weight 
the  edges;  the  same  memorable  pistols 
that  had  stood  him  in  such  good  stead  on 
that   far-away  night   when    he    and    the 

Marquis  of   G had  ridden  together. 

By  just  such  trivial  expedients  does  tricky 
Chance  sweep  a  man's  destiny  aside. 

He  and  Jennison  were  soon  deep  in 
165 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

whispered  consultation,  the  roomful  of 
men  looking  on  with  undisguised  im- 
patience.    At  last  the  Colonel  spoke. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  know  that 
you  all  have  a  very  pardonable  curiosity 
concerning  the  enterprise  that  is  on  foot, 
and  I  have  orders  here  from  headquarters 
that  will  not  only  satisfy  your  curiosity, 
but  gratify  your  pride. " 

"That's  good,"  whispered  Dalrymple, 
the  senior  Major,  audibly.  "We've  been 
mortifying  our  pride  long  enough." 

"If  not  your  flesh,  eh,  Major?"  said 
Captain  Dacier,  under  his  breath. 

"You're  right,  Major,"  said  Jennison, 
smiling,  and  then  continued:  "The  Com- 
mander-in-Chief has  thought  secrecy  of 
the  utmost  importance  in  this  instance, 
and,  therefore,  no  hint  of  the  intended 
movement  has  gotten  out.  It  is  his 
intention  to  make  this  attack  a  complete 
surprise  to  the  enemy,  and  to  that  pur- 
pose these  instructions  have  not  been 
given  to  regimental  commanders  till  now. " 

"When  do  we  move,  sir?"  questioned 
Farquhar,  an  alert  little  captain.  Sir 
Edward,  for  answer,  drew  out  his  fob  and 
166 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

glanced  at  his  watch.  "It  is  half-after 
eight,"  he  said,  and  then,  reading  from 
the  orders  before  him,  "The  advance, 
composed  of  both  regiments  of  the 
Guards,  and  the  brigade  of  Hessians,  is  to 
move  at  one  o'clock." 

"To-morrow,  sir?"  asked  Dacier. 

"To-day — to-night,  sir?"  answered  the 
Colonel,  frowning.  "You  will  have 
about  four  hours  for  preparation. ' '  Then 
he  addressed  the  others,  who  had  clustered 
about  the  table  by  which  he  was  standing. 
"As  you  will  see  by  the  maps  here,  gentle- 
men," he  said,  "the  enemy's  position  is  a 
strong  one." 

"We'll  sweep  'em  off  their  feet," 
interjected  Dalrymple. 

"You  talk  as  if  the  Guards  were  armed 
with  brooms,  Dal,"  laughed  D'Arcy. 

"The  bayonet  is  a  grenadier's  broom, 
Jack,"  answered  the  big  Major. 

"Aye,  sir,"  said  Sir  Edward,  "and 
we'll  give  it  to  'em.  As  I  was  saying," 
he  went  on,  "the  enemy  holds  a  strong 
position,  their  intrenchments  are  strung 
along  these  hills,  which  are  heavily  tim- 
bered." His  finger  traced  over  the  maps, 
167 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

and  the  little  group  about  him  followed 
with  eager  eyes.  "At  their  back,  you 
see,  is  the  river." 

"I  don't  envy  'em  to-morrow  morning's 
bath,"  said  little  Farquhar. 

"That's  just  the  point,  Captain," 
answered  the  Colonel;  over  his  shoulder. 
"We'll  drive  'em  into  the  river.  Our 
regiment  has  the  post  of  honor  in  the 
van,"  he  continued,  "and  we  must  set 
the  pace ;  we  must  prove  ourselves  worthy 
of  the  honor." 

There  were  murmurs  of  approval  all 
around,  and,  after  studying  the  maps  for  a 
moment,  he  went  on  again.  "The  attack 
begins  from  this  side  with  us.  The 
Hessians  move  to  the  left,  and  the 
Eightieth,  Forty-first  and  Ninety -second 
take  the  center."  At  this  point  Dal- 
rymple  leaned  over  to  examine  some 
detail  of  the  plans,  and  he  and  the 
Colonel  conversed  in  low  tones  for  several 
minutes.  The  others  drew  back,  and  had 
resort  to  the  decanters  and  punch-bowl, 
and  took  occasion  to  refill  and  put  fire  to 
their  long  pipe-stems. 

"They  are  nothing  but  a  disorganized 
168 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

rabble,  and  if  we  hem  'em  in  so  they  can't 
run,  they'll  throw  down  their  arms  at 
once,"  remarked  Dacier. 

"Or  drown  like  rats  in  the  river," 
added  Gregory. 

"That's  what  they  should  do,  Greg," 
said  D'Arcy,  who,  with  his  back  spread  to 
the  blaze  on  the  andirons,  was  lazily 
blowing  fragrant  clouds  toward  the  ceil- 
ing; "but,"  he  added,  "they  won't.  The 
beggars  are  sadly  lacking  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  tactics,  and  don't  know  how  to 
retreat,  and  as  for  their  manual  of  arms, 
it  gives  'em  no  information  at  all  on  the 
subject  of  throwing  'em  down." 

"You're  right,  Jack,"  put  in  Far- 
quhar;  "the  rascals  don't  seem  to  know 
when  they're  beaten." 

"Eh,  what's  that?"  questioned  the 
Colonel,  overhearing  the  last  phrase,  and 
looking  around.     "Who  said  beaten?" 

"I  was  saying,  Colonel,"  answered 
Farquhar,  "that  the  rebels  never  knew 
when  they  were  beaten." 

"Oh,  the  scoundrels  can  fight,  damn 
'em,"  exclaimed  Jennison,  "and  they'll 
have  to  to-morrow." 

169 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"If  everything  goes  right,  it  will  end 
the  war,"  said  Dalrymple. 

"Everything  must  go  right,"  replied 
Sir  Edward,  positively.  "This  is  the 
most  important  move  we've  made. 
There  is  no  possible  way  in  which  our 
plans  can  have  leaked  out,  and  they'll  be 
totally  unprepared.  We'll  catch  'em 
napping,  and  rout  'em  to  the  last  man." 

"They've  only  a  handful  fit  for  service, 
anyhow,"  said  Dacier. 

"That  fox  "Washington  seems  to  do 
most  damage  when  he  has  only  a  band  of 
disabled  men.  Remember  Trenton  and 
Princeton,"  rejoined  Dalrymple. 

"Oh,  Dal,  let's  forget  'em,"  laughed 
D'Arcy. 

"Yes,"  said  Jennison,  "they're  like  a 
bad  dream." 

"To-morrow  we'll  retrieve  all  that  and 
wipe  the  score  clean,"  muttered  Far- 
quhar,  quaffing  deep  from  the  bowl's 
contents. 

"We'll  bring  this  Mr.  Washington  and 
his  French  aide,  the  Marquis  de  Lafa- 
yette, back  to  Philadelphia  with  us," 
exclaimed  Dacier. 

170 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

"I  wonder  if  Frenchy  is  really  a  mar- 
quis?" asked  Dalrymple. 

"He's  a  beautiful  marquis,  Dal," 
replied  D'Arcy,  "and  a  charming  gentle- 
man. I  knew  him  in  Paris  when  he  was 
only  a  lad." 

"He  must  like  the  company  he's  keep- 
ing," remarked  Dacier,  sneeringly. 

"A  good  fighting  man  is  always  good 
company,  Captain  Dacier,"  said  D'Arcy, 
and  he  toised  the  Captain  with  a  mocking 
eye. 

Dacier  flushed,  and  a  retort  was  on  his 
lips,  when  Dalrymple  broke  in  heartily, 
'The  best  in  the  world,  Jack." 

And  Sir  Edward,  who  had  not  noticed 
the  little  incident,  joined  in  commenda- 
tion. "Sound  doctrine  that,  gentlemen. 
And  now,"  he  added,  turning  to  them  all, 
"I  think  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
We'll  all  meet  again  before  many  hours." 

"But  who  knows  when  or  where  we'll 
meet  again  after  that,  Sir  Edward?"  asked 
D'Arcy.  "So  sit  ye  down,  and  give  us  a 
toast." 

The  proposal  was  chorused  by  all 
assembled,  and  the  Colonel  found  himself 
171 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

the  center  of  brimming  glasses.  He  held 
one  himself,  and  he  gave  them,  "The 
King,  gentlemen ;  God  bless  him,  and  his 
fighting  men!" 

"The  King  and  his  fighting  men," 
echoed  the  group. 

"And  may  they  always  support  one 
another,"  added  Jennison,  fervently. 

"Forever!"  shouted  all. 

"Fill  again,  Sir  Edward.  Boys,  do 
your  duty,"  cried  D'Arcy,  and  when  they 
had  replenished,  he  lifted  his  glass,  and 
gave  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  Lord 
Cornwallis. 

"Here,  here!"  cried  his  companions 
"The  Commander-in-Chief  and  Lord 
Cornwallis. " 

"That's  hearty,"  said  the  Colonel, "and 
a  good  omen  for  the  morrow.  And 
now,"  he  added,  "I  must  bid  you  all 
good-night.  You'd  all  best  get  a  few 
hours'  sleep  before  we  start." 

"Oh,  Sir  Edward*  you  can't  go  yet," 
exclaimed  D'Arcy,  taking  him  by  the 
arm  coaxingly.  "Dal  hasn't  sung  his 
song." 

"That's  so,"  said  Farqnhar. 
172 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

1 '  Come ,  Ma j  or , "  urged  the  others ,  "  we 
must  have  it." 

"What  shall  it  be?"  asked  Dalrymple. 

"That  new  song,  Dal,  about  the  little 
dear  in  the  alley,'"'  answered  D'Arcy. 

"Yes,  that's  the  one,"  said  Jennison, 
seating  himself  and  filling  a  pipe. 

Dalrymple  took  a  puff  or  two  from  hia 
"church  warden,"  and  then,  with  a  "Here 
goes,  lads,  don't  forget  the  chorus,"  he 
sang  "Sally  in  Our  Alley."  It  went  with 
a  dash,  and  the  choruses  made  the  win- 
dows rattle,  while  Pamela  and  Cynthia, 
not  far  away,  shivered  for  fear  of  their 
china  and  glass,  which  had  been  sent  in 
to  honor  the  occasion.  There  was  no 
damage,  however,  save  leakage,  and  the 
decanters  and  bowl  were  at  a  low  ebb, 
when,  at  last,  the  Colonel  staggered  to  his 
feet  determinedly. 

"Jack  D'Arcy,  I  see  you're  for  a  night 
of  it,"  he  laughed. 

"Only  for  a  part  of  a  night,"  answered 
D'Arcy.  "Drink  and  be  merry,  Colonel, 
for  to-morrow  we — you  know  the  rest, 
Sir  Edward.  And  if  we  do,  to-night 
would  have  been  wasted  between  sheets." 
173 


D'AECY  of  the  GUAKDS 

"You're  a  roisterer,  Jack,  and  I'll  leave 
you  to  your  ways."  He  had  buckled  his 
cloak  about  him,  and,  turning  to  the 
others,  who  had  risen,  he  bade  them  all 
good-night. 

D'Arcy,  picking  up  a  candle,  followed 
him  out,  and  the  frosty  night  air  blew  so 
refreshingly,  after  the  heated,  stuffy  room, 
that  he  went  down  through  the  gardens 
with  him.  "When  he  returned,  they  were 
roaring  through  another  song,  and  D'Arcy 
took  up  the  chorus  with  them : 

"  Let  the  toast  pass, 

Drink  to  the  lass, 

I'll  warrant  she'll  prove  an  excuse  for  the 


Then  Dalrymple  went  on  to  the  next 
verse : 

"Here's  to  the  charmer  whose  dimples  we 

prize, 
Now  to  the  maid  who  has  none.  sir. 
Here's  to  the  girl  with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes, 
And  here's  to  the  nymphs  with  but  one,  sir." 

Again     they    rollicked     through     the 
chorus,  and  a  final  verse  was  demanded. 

m 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

"For  let  'em  be  clumsy  and  let  'em  be  slim, 
Young  or  ancient,  I  care  not  a  feather ; 
So  fill  a  pint  bumper  quite  up  to  the  brim, 
So  fill  up  your  glasses,  way  full  to  the  brim, 
And  let  us  e'en  toast  them  together." 

sang  Dalrymple,  and  they  all  joined  in 
with: 

"Let  the  toast  pass, 

Drink  to  the  lass, 

I'll  warrant  she'll   prove  an  excuse  for  the 

glass." 

There  was  a  shout  for  more,  but  the 
big  Major  refused. 

"You  missed  our  last  toast,  D'Arcy," 
said  Dacier. 

"I  hate  to  miss  a  good  toast,"  said  the 
Irishman.  "We'll  have  it  over  again. 
What  was  it?" 

"The  ladies,  Jack,"  answered  Dal- 
rymple. 

"With  all  my  heart!  The  ladies!" 
cried  D'Arcy. 

"May  beauty  and  wit  be  always  theirs," 
said  Farquhar,  enthusiastically. 

"And  may  the  sex  complete  be  always 
ours,"  twinkled  D'Arcy,  raising  his  glass. 

They  were  all  about  to  drink,  when 
175 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

Dacier,  whose  capacity  had  been  imposed 
upon  woefully,  interrupted. 

"Now  that  Major  D'Arcy  is  here,"  he 
said,  "I  would  like  to  specialize  my  orig- 
inal toast,  and  propose  the  fair  and 
charming  young  rebel,  Miss  Pamela 
Towneshend."  There  was  just  the  slight- 
est shade  of  insinuation  in  his  voice,  that 
sent  a  shiver  up  and  down  the  backs  of 
the  others,  to  whom  D'Arcy's  interest  was 
not  a  mystery.  Dalrymple  jumped  into 
the  breach  hurriedly. 

"Every  one  would  gladly  do  homage  to 
the  beautiful  and  accomplished  Miss 
Towneshend,"  he  said,  and  Gregory, 
whose  anxious  eyes  had  been  fastened  on 
the  face  of  his  friend,  breathed  easier. 
He  was  premature,  for  Dacier,  feeling  a 
sort  of  challenge  in  Dalrymple's  notice- 
able attempt  to  cover  up  his  remark, 
snapped  out  in  answer:  "If  they  got  a 
chance,  yes;  but  D'Arcy  keeps  a  good 
thing  to  himself." 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Farqnhar,  fidget- 
ing. But  it  had  gotten  beyond  interfer- 
ence. Gregory  saw  that,  and  his  heart 
sank. 

176 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

"Captain  Dacier,  your  taste  is  better 
than  your  manners,"  D'Arcy  said,  coldly, 
looking  the  Captain  in  the  eyes. 

"I  shouldn't  choose  you  for  a  judge  of 
either,  Major  D'Arcy,"  retorted  Dacier. 
He  was  still  smarting  at  the  morning's 
discomfiture,  and  his  potations  had 
brought  it  out  fiercely.  Gregory  had 
stepped  quickly  to  D'Arcy's  side,  and 
whispered,  "For  God's  sake,  mind  your- 
self!" 

D'Arcy  either  didn't  hear,  or  didn't 
want  to  heed.  He  was  conscious  only  of 
the  smirking  mouth  before  him,  that 
had  spoken  trivially  of  her;  he  felt  that 
he  would  like  to  crush  it  out  of  all 
semblance  of  anything  human,  and  destroy 
the  man,  too.  But  this  surge  of  feeling 
receded,  and  it  was  quite  calmly  and 
deliberately  that  he  flung  his  glass  of 
wine  straight  in  the  other's  face. 

'Damn  you,  D'Arcy,"  screamed    the 
man,  in  a  sputter,  "I'll  kill  you." 

"I  meant  to  give  you  that  oppor- 
tunity," answered  D'Arcy.  "Do  you 
consider  yourself  more  proficient  with  a 
sword  or  a  pistol?" 

177 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

The  rest  of  the  little  group  had  been 
stunned  by  the  rapidity  and  suddenness  of 
the  whole  thing,  sitting  agape  as  if  at  the 
play,  but  now  Dalrymple  stepped  angrily 
between  them. 

"This  affair  must  go  no  further,"  he 
said. 

"You're  right,  Major  Dalrymple," 
chimed  in  Gregory,  who  was  beside 
himself  at  the  turn  things  had  taken. 
"The  reputation  of  the  Guards  is  at 
stake." 

"Will  Captain  Dacier  withdraw  his  very 
impertinent  and  offensive  remarks  con- 
cerning a  lady  for  whom  I  have  the  high- 
est respect?"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Of  course,  of  course.  Go  ahead, 
Dacier.  Don't  be  a  fool,"  urged  fussy 
little  Farquhar. 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I  will,"  answered 
Dacier. 

"I'll  be  damned  if  you  don't,"  cried 
Dalrymple,  out  of  all  patience. 

"Don't  trust  your  salvation,  Dal,  to 
anything  so  uncertain,"  said  D'Arcy, 
laughing. 

"Jack,  you'll  ruin  yourself,  and  make 

178 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

her  name  a  byword  in  the  army,  if  this 
goes  on,"  whispered  Gregory. 

"I'll  kill  the  puppy  who  dared  to  slur 
her,"  was  the  answer  he  got.  "Sir," 
D'Arcy  went  on,  addressing  Dacier,  "you 
have 'the  choice  of  weapons.  We  must  go 
somewhere  from  the  house,  for  I  cannot 
risk  annoying  the  regular  inmates." 

"As  you  please,"  answered  Dacier; 
"and  I  choose  the  rapier." 

"Very  good,"  said  D'Arcy. 

"Gentlemen,"  here  broke  in  Dalrymple 
again,  "I  will  be  no  party  to  such  a  duel 
and  I  shall  go  straight  to  my  Lord 
Cornwallis,  if  the  matter  isn't  stopped. 
Captain  Gregory  and  the  others  here  will 
uphold  me  in  my  position." 

"We  certainly  will,  Major,"  said 
Gregory. 

"That  would  be  most  irregular," 
answered  D'Arcy. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  of  irregularity, 
Jack,"  burst  out  Dalrymple.  "When  we 
are  within  four  or  five  hours  of  an  engage- 
ment, you  want  to  go  off  shooting  and 
stabbing  on  your  own  account,  taking 
no  heed  of  the  honor  of  your  regi- 
179 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

ment,    which    needs    the  help   of  every 
officer." 

"I  am  perfectly  willing  to  postpone  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  Captain  Dacier  till 
after  to-morrow's  engagement,"  replied 
D'Arcy. 

"I  am  agreeable  to  Major  D'Arcy 's  pro- 
posal," assented  Dacier. 

'That  is  satisfactory,"  said  Dalrymple. 
"And  if  you're  not  killed  to-morrow,  you 
can  kill  one  another  when  you  get  back," 
he  added,  bluntly. 

"You  put-  it  crudely,  Dal,"  remarked 
D'Arcy. 

"I've  no  patience  with  either  of  you," 
answered  Dalrymple,  "and  I'm  going." 

"It's  time  we  were  all  abed,"  said  Far- 
quhar,  making  a  move  toward  his  hat  and 
cloak. 

"You're  right,  Captain,"  Gregory  said, 
and  the  movement  was  general. 

The  good-nights  had  been  said,  and  the 
party  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when 
Gregory,  who  was  standing  by  the  table, 
noticed  that  the  maps  and  orders  were 
still  spread  out.     "Halloa!"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Farquhar. 

180 


A  COUNCIL  of  WAR 

"The  Colonel  has  left  his  papers," 
answered  the  doctor. 

"It  doesn't  matter,"  said  D'Arcy. 
"I'm  going  to  headquarters  about  twelve; 
I'll  take  them  with  me." 

"Just  as  well,"  said  Dalrymple. 
"Good-night,  Jack." 

"I'll  light  you  to  the  gate,"  said 
D'Arcy,  taking  up  a  candle. 

"I  am  going  up  to  bed,"  said  Gregory. 

"I'll  be  up  in  a  few  minutes,  Greg," 
answered  D'Arcy,  as  he  followed  the 
others  out. 

Gregory  heard  the  bolts  being  shot 
back,  and  the  door  opened  and  shut 
behind  them.  He  took  up  his  candle, 
and  mounted  the  stairs.  The  happenings 
of  the  night  and  the  coming  morning's 
desperate  venture  would  have  fallen  out 
differently  if  he  had  but  waited  for  the 
young  Irishman's  return. 


181 


CHAPTER   XV 

MAJOR   D'ARCY   IS   SURPRISED 

If  Pamela  shunned  the  book -room  dur- 
ing the  day,  it  was  with  bounding  heart 
that  she  thought  of  it  a  hundred  times. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  she  quite  brazenly 
proposed  to  Cynthia  that  they  brew  a 
punch,  and  send  in  the  decanters  of 
Madeira  "as  a  compliment  to  Doctor 
Gregory  and  his  guests  of  the  evening." 
Cynthia  was  delighted  with  the  disin- 
genuous proposal,  and  half  an  hour  before 
the  company  of  officers  assembled,  Sambo 
had  finished  putting  out  the  household's 
shining  crystal — Pamela's  pride — and  the 
huge  brimming  bowl,  flanked  by  choicest 
Madeira,  and  a  dozen  dusty  bottles  of 
sparkling  Burgundy  were  placed  on  the 
glistening  mahogany.  The  little  house- 
keeper's heart  fell  as  she  surveyed  the 
priceless  array,  but  her  cheeks  glowed,  and 
she  was  elated,  nevertheless.  She  and 
Cynthia  decided  to  sit  up  till  the  little 
183 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

assembly  dispersed;  no  careless  house- 
wench  conld  be  trusted  to  remove  the 
precious  glass  and  china  to  the  pantries, 
and  even  Sambo  needed  supervision.  It 
must  be  confessed  that  they  looked 
dubiously  at  one  another,  as  the  sound  of 
song  and  laughter  came  to  them,  but  they 
had  the  courage  of  their  courtesy,  and 
strengthened  themselves  against  the  sight 
of  their  treasure  splintered  and  in  pieces. 

Sambo  was  on  watch  for  the  departure, 
and,  as  the  officers  filed  out  into  the 
gardens,  he  called  his  young  mistress  and 
Cynthia,  and  the  three  tiptoed  into  the 
room.  The  air  was  heavy  with  smoke, 
through  which  a  dozen  candles  nickered 
but  dimly.  The  girls  choked  and 
coughed,  but  found  relief  in  not  a  single 
broken  glass. 

Solicitude  gave  way  to  gaiety,  and 
Sambo's  tray  was  soon  loaded  with  the 
precious  weight. 

He  had  left  the  room,  and  Cynthia  was 
standing  by  the  fire. 

"I  suppose  the  Major  and  Doctor 
Gregory  have  gone  to  bed,"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Pamela,  still 

184 


MA  JOE  D'ARCY  is  SURPRISED 

bustling  about.  She  had  come  to  the 
table,  upon  which  lay  the  tell-tale  orders 
and  maps,  still  spread  under  the  weight  of 
D'Arcy's  pistols.  Leaning  over,  to  get  a 
glimpse,  she  read  mechanically  aloud, 
what  met  her  startled  eyes,  "Plans  of 
the  American  fortifications  at  Valley 
Forge." 

"What?"  asked  Cynthia,  listlessly,  not 
hearing. 

Pamela  snatched  up  the  paper,  and  read 
with  widening  eyes,  her  hands  all  of  a 
tremor. 

"Order  of  attack  on  Valley  Forge, 
Cynthia!"  she  cried. 

"What  is  it?"  answered  the  girl,  turn- 
ing to  her,  startled. 

"Look!  It's  a  plot,  Cynthia,"  and  she 
read  again,  breathlessly,  "Order  of  attack 
on  Valley  Forge;  the  advance  composed 
of  both  regiments  of  the  Guards,  and  the 
brigade  of  Hessians  is  to  move  at  one 
o'clock." 

"When?" 

"It  is  dated  Headquarters,  December 
29th,"  read  Pamela. 

"That's  to-day,"  gasped  Cynthia. 
185 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"They  intend  to  attack  to-night.  It's 
a  surprise,"  answered  Pamela. 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"Let  me  think,  let  me  think,"  cried 
her  cousin;  but  she  couldn't  think, 
thought  seemed  denied  her;  the  heated, 
smoky  room  numbed  her  senses ;  her  head 
was  in  a  whirl.  "They  must  have  word, " 
she  murmured;  "they  must.  I  have  it," 
she  said,  hurriedly,  a  moment  later. 
"Quick,  Cynthia!  take  Sambo  to  the 
stables  and  saddle  Bess." 

"What  will  you  do,  Pamela,"  asked  the 
girl,  trembling. 

"I'll  warn  them,"  she  answered. 

"You  would  never  get  through, "  said 
Cynthia. 

"I  will  get  through,"  replied  Pamela, 
firmly.  She  was  herself  again,  well  in 
hand,  poised,  determined.  "I  know  every 
inch  of  the  road,  and  can  make  it  in 
two  hours — three,  at  the  most.  If  they 
are  not  warned,  they'll  be  destroyed. 
Quick,  dear,  there  is  not  a  moment  to 
spare." 

"The  mare  will  be  ready  in  five 
minutes,"  cried  Cynthia,  caught  by  the 
186 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  is  SURPRISED 

enthusiasm.  "Get  a  warm  coat,"  she  said, 
as  she  rushed  from  the  room. 

Once  again  Pamela  turned  to  the  tahle. 
She  spread  the  order  just  as  she  had 
found  it,  and  then  read  and  re-read  it, 
printing  every  word  on  her  memory.  She 
turned  to  go,  and,  seeing  D'Arcy's  cloak 
on  the  sofa,  she  threw  it  about  her,  and 
smiled  as  she  saw  herself  in  the  mirror. 
One  more  look  at  the  papers,  and  then — . 
She  was  bending  over  the  table  once 
more;  her  eyes  had  reached  the  word 
"Hessians" — it  was  to  be  stamped  on  her 
mind  for  life—when  she  heard  a  slight  noise. 
Raising  her  eyes,  they  met  D'Arcy's. 

He  was  standing  just  inside  the  door ; 
the  candle,which  he  held  high,  lit  up  his 
handsome,  puzzled  face.  Laughter  and 
inquiry  struggled  in  his  eyes,  as  he  saw  the 
girl,  draped  in  his  huge  cloak. 

"Major  D'Arcy!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Miss  Towneshend!  I  thought  it  was 
some  lovely  ghost,"  he  said. 

"I  was  never  more  in  the  flesh  than  I 
am  to-night,"  she  answered  quietly, 
though  her  head  was  whirling  again. 

"Are  you  for  a  masquerade  to-night, 
187 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

Miss  Towneshend?"  asked  D'Arcy,  his  eyes 
traveling  once  more  over  the  slight, 
cloaked,  girlish  figure. 

"I  am,"  said  Pamela,  "and  for  a  ride," 
she  added,  firmly. 

"And  may  I  accompany  you?"  he 
questioned.     "It  is  a  dark  night." 

Like  a  flash  it  had  come  over  him  that 
this  girl,  standing  there  defiant  and  at 
bay,  was  his  enemy;  had  the  information 
that  would  break  their  plans  asunder,  and 
would  use  it  to  the  full. 

"Thank  you,  Major  D'Arcy,"  he  heard 
her  say,  "but  I  must  ride  alone." 

He  was  very  grave  now,  the  light  had 
left  his  eyes ;  she  felt  that  he  had  divined 
everything. 

"I  am  afraid,  Miss  Towneshend,  that  I 
cannot  permit  you  to  leave  this  room  alone 
to-night.  Not  for  several  hours,  at  least," 
he  said. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  would  dare  to 
use  force  to  restrain  me?"  flashed  out  the 
girl,  with  blazing  eyes. 

"I  should  feel  extremely  mortified  if 
you  pushed  me  to  that  extremity," 
answered  D'Arcy. 

188 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  is  SURPRISED 

"Which  means  that  you  would?" 

"Which  means  that  I  would."  There 
was  a  coolness  and  deliberateness  about  the 
man  that  frenzied  the  girl,  whose  nerves 
were  already  a-tingle. 

"The  boasted  chivalry  of  the  Irish 
gentleman  and  the  British  officer  fades 
away  when  put  to  the  trial,"  she  laughed. 

"You  do  both  the  Irish  gentleman,  and 
the  British  officer,  grave  injustice,  Miss 
Towneshend.  You  have  in  your  posses- 
sion information  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  the  enemy,  which  it  is  my  duty  to  pre- 
vent from  coming  into  their  hands,"  he 
replied. 

Swiftly  the  girl  took  another  tack ;  there 
was  pleading  in  her  voice.  "Let  me  go," 
she  cried.  "Can't  you  see  —  oh,  let  me 
go."  She  spoke  eagerly  and  fast,  her 
voice  trembling,  her  cheeks  on  fire.  He 
thought  her  the  loveliest  thing  earth  held 
and  a  mad  impulse  swept  over  him  to 
take  her  in  his  arms,  and  give  everything 
she  asked.  The  next  moment  he  felt 
stranded  and  sickened  at  the  thought. 

"You  put  me  to  a  cruel  test.  If  my 
love  for  you,  Miss  Towneshend,  was  one 
189 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUAKDS 

whit  less  true  or  honest,  I'd  bid  you  go, 
and  claim  the  reward  of  my  dishonor. 
But  I  can't,  I  can't,"  he  cried,  desperately. 
"Give  me  your  word  that  you  will  not 
leave  this  house  to-night,  or  communicate 
to  any  other  person  the  information  which 
you  possess,  and  I  will  not  restrain  you." 

He  took  a  step  forward,  and  she  felt  as 
if  her  legs  would  give  way ;  she  leaned  on 
the  table,  and  her  hand  touched  some- 
thing. Involuntarily  she  grasped  it ;  her 
hand  closed  around  the  handle  familiarly. 
"No,"  she  cried,  "and  Major  D'Arcy," 
she  added  firmly,  pulling  back  the  trigger 
of  the  pistol,  "you  will  prevent  my  pass- 
ing at  your  peril." 

He  could  see  that  she  knew  the 
weapon's  use.  "I  would  prefer  it  so,"  he 
replied,  quite  simply,  and  stepped  toward 
her. 

"I  warn  you!"  cried  Pamela,  stepping 
back  a  pace  and  raising  her  arm. 

"You  cannot  leave  this  room,"  he  said, 
and  his  eye  ran  along  the  shining  barrel 
in  her  hand.  She  saw  the  eye  with  a  half 
smile  in  it,  and  lower  down  the  firm, 
relentless  mouth  and  she  fired.  He 
J90 


MAJOR  D'ARCY  is  SURPRISED 

seemed  to  swing  as  if  on  a  pivot,  then, 
with  a  cry,  pitched  forward  on  the  floor, 
the  candlestick  flying  from  his  hand  to  a 
farther  corner  of  the  room. 

Pamela  stood  dazed  and  stunned  by  the 
reverberation ;  the  smoke  drifted,  and  she 
saw  him  lying  there,  senseless — dead? 
"With  a  cry  she  threw  herself  by  his  side, 
and  raised  his  head.  "He's  dead;  I've 
killed  him,"  she  said  to  Cynthia,  who 
had  entered  silently,  and  knelt  with  her, 
horror-stricken. 

"Quick,  Pamela,  you  must  go;  Sambo 
has  the  mare  at  the  back  gate." 

"Go!"  gasped  Pamela.  "I  can't  leave 
him.     Jack!  Jack!"  she  moaned. 

"There  is  some  one  coming,"  whispered 
Cynthia,  hoarsely,  staggering  up,  and 
pulling  at  Pamela.  "Go,  go,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  or  everything  is  lost."  She  half 
dragged  the  girl  to  her  feet,  across  the 
room,  and  shoved  her  through  the  door. 
A  second  later,  Gregory,  his  clothes  all 
disordered,  burst  into  the  room. 

"What  is  it?     Who  is  hurt?" 

"Major  D'Arcy,"  said  Cynthia. 

Then  he  saw  him  lying  there,  sprawled 
191 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

out,  inanimate.  Stooping  quickly,  he 
took  him  in  his  arms. 

"Jack,  Jack!  My  God,  Jack,  speak  to 
me!"  cried  the  old  man,  piteously. 

But  D'Arcy  didn't  answer. 


193 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PAMELA  TAKES  TO  THE  ROAD 

Pamela  groped  her  way  along  the  hall, 
as  if  she  were  traversing  the  intricacies  of 
some  unfamiliar  maze.  Her  feet  were 
leaden,  and  every  limb  seemed  in  perverse 
revolt  against  her  hideous  retreat.  She 
was  possessed  by  the  full  horror  of  the 
thing,  and  every  sense  seemed  numb.  At 
the  farther  end  a  candle  burned  dimly, 
and,  halting  unsteadily  for  a  moment,  she 
snatched  a  fur  tippet  from  the  rack,  and  a 
hood,  instinctively,  with  no  mental  pre- 
science of  the  bitter  night  without.  As 
she  passed  out,  the  frosty  air  gave  her  a 
stinging  welcome,  and  the  blood  rushed  to 
her  paled  cheeks;  she  felt  revivified,  and 
seeing  the  beams  of  Sambo's  lantern 
sprinkling  through  the  hedge,  she  hurried 
forward,  will  once  more  dominating.  The 
old  darky,  snuggled  closely  in  a  great- 
coat, was  coaxing  the  restive  mare,  in  a 
low  voice,  when  she  appeared.  He  noticed 
193 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

her  bare  hands,  and  forced  his  own  huge 
mittens  on  her;  an  instant  later  her  leg 
gripped  the  saddle -horn,  and  with  a  last 
hurried,  whispered  message  for  Cynthia, 
about  her  mother,  she  was  off. 

The  road  was  an  open  book  to  her. 
Every  hollow,  every  hill,  every  side-lane 
and  by-path,  belonged  to  her  memory 
from  childhood ;  and  there  was  no  uncer- 
tainty in  her  mind  when  she  turned  into 
the  fields,  after  a  racing  mile  that  had  set 
the  reluctant  blood  chasing  through  her, 
and  had  communicated  some  of  the  mare's 
buoyant  mettle  to  her  own  jaded  senses. 
Her  hand  grew  firmer  on  the  rein,  vision 
came  to  her  eyes,  and  most  blessed  of  all, 
that  raging  memory  was  subdued;  the 
night  enveloped  her  and  seemed  to  sub- 
merge her  tiny  emotions  and  raw  con- 
sciousness in  its  mighty  infiniteness.  The 
precaution  of  taking  to  the  frozen  furrows 
showed  that  her  mind  was  alert,  for,  not  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  beyond,  a  small  outpost 
barred  the  road.  Further  on  she  took  to 
the  main  path  again,  and  the  mad  gallop 
was  resumed.  A  blazing  fire,  with 
shadowy  figures  about,  far  ahead,  twisted 
194 


PAMELA  TAKES  to  the  ROAD 

her  aside  once  more,  and  she  came  out  on 
the  hillroad,  the  river  twining  blackly 
beneath  her,  and  the  journey  nearly  half 
over. 

On  and  on  they  sped.  Brown  Bess,  too, 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  perilous  adven- 
ture, and  spurned  the  miles  with  every 
moment  faster  flying  hoofs.  Trees,  with 
winter-blasted  branches,  seemed  to  beseech 
them  to  tarry,  but  on  they  hurried ;  grim, 
tight,  shuttered  houses,  mocked  at  their 
haste,  but  they  heeded  not;  the  sluggish 
river  rolled  on,  with  its  freight  of  grind- 
ing ice,  and  showed  no  interest  in  the 
race,  while  the  twinkling  stars,  only, 
speeded  them  on  cheerily.  Even  the  com- 
fort they  yielded,  was  denied,  when  they 
entered  the  jealous  blackness  of  a  wood, 
where  only  dimmest  shadows  kept  them 
company,  and  stealthy  midnight  noises 
met  their  approach  and  again  sounded  in 
their  rear.  At  last,  they  left  the  open 
for  good,  and  were  embraced  by  the 
impenetrable  gloom  of  the  forest.  The 
mare  was  reined  in  to  an  impatient  and 
fretful  walk,  while  the  girl  leaned  for- 
ward,   and    peered    into    the    darkness. 

195 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

There  was  no  sound  save  Bess's  iron 
stamp  on  the  frozen  ground,  and  for  a 
mile  or  more  they  walked,  then,  of  a 
sndden,  a  shrill  whistle  split  the  air  in 
front  of  them.  Pamela  heard  the  break- 
ing of  twigs  and  the  rustle  of  bushes; 
with  tight-held  breath,  she  waited,  the 
mare  curbed  in  firmly;  they  must  be 
friends  there,  she  felt,  and  took  the 
chance. 

A  muffled  group  was  soon  about  her, 
and  hands  held  the  bridle.  She  could 
distinguish  neither  face  nor  uniform,  but 
she  saw  bayonets,  and  knew  they  were 
soldiery,  and  their  voices  proclaimed  them 
friends.  As  for  the  picket,  when  they 
discovered  the  cloaked  figure  to  be  a  girl, 
and  heard  that  her  errand  was  to  head- 
quarters, vigilance  gave  way  to  courtesy, 
and  she  was  hurried  on,  with  a  guard  of 
honor,  to  her  journey's  end. 

The  hour  was  one,  and  the  camp  slept 
as  they  passed  among  its  numberless  rows 
of  tents  and  huts;  fires  burned  brightly, 
here  and  there,  and  guardian  sentries 
questioned  their  approach,  only  to  give  way 
before  the  whispered  countersign.  At  last, 
196 


PAMELA  TAKES  to  the  EOAD 

they  halted  before  the  door  of  a  log  house 
larger  than  those  they  had  passed,  and 
with  tell-tale  rays  of  light  stealing  from 
behind  closely-curtained  windows,  to  show 
that  the  inmates  were  not  abed.  A 
sounding  rap  brought  the  door  open,  and 
there  were  whisperings  with  the  guard. 
Then  the  portal  was  closed,  and  they  all 
stood  silent;  the  girl  shivering  above 
them,  while  the  mare,  with  steaming 
flanks,  pounded  restlessly.  The  door  was 
flung  wide  again,  after  an  interminable 
wait,  and  a  man  stepped  toward  her,  his 
sword  and  spurs  clanking  as  he  walked. 
He  stood  beside  her,  and  spoke,  and  she 
reeled  in  the  saddle. 

"Ned!"  she  cried,  and  he  had  her  in 
his  arms. 

She  was  conscious  of  being  borne 
tenderly  into  the  warmth  of  a  lighted 
room,  then  all  was  blank.  When  she 
came  to,  her  brother  was  kneeling  at  her 
side,  gently  chafing  the  frosted  hands, 
and  another,  she  thought  the  biggest 
man  she  had  ever  seen,  was  standing  by. 
He  spoke  gently,  in  a  low  voice,  and  in 
answer  she  heard  her  brother  call  him 
197 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"General."  Then  thought  came  with  a 
rush ;  she  sat  up  quickly. 

"What  is  the  hour?"  she  asked. 

"After  one,"  answered  Ned.  "Have 
you  news?"  he  said. 

"News?"  she  burst  out.  "They  are 
starting  now!" 

"They?"  cried  her  brother. 

"The  British,"  she  answered,  and  fol- 
lowed with  the  tale,  but  with  no  mention 
of  that  sprawling  figure  on  the  floor  of  the 
book -room ;  she  had  shoved  the  picture  of 
that  into  the  furthest  corner  of  her 
memory,  and  now,  breathlessly,  told  only 
of  the  plan.  The  tall  man  hung  on  every 
word,  his  eyes  bent  on  her  in  grave 
scrutiny.  By  the  time  she  had  finished, 
he  had  stepped  quickly  to  a  table  littered 
with  papers,  and  taking  a  quill,  wrote 
rapidly,  turning  once  to  question  her. 
Then  Ned  hurriedly  left  the  room. 

The  big  man  once  more  stood  by  her ; 
he  seemed  to  tower  in  his  height,  and  she 
noticed  the  great  size  of  his  hands,  and 
booted  feet,  while  wonder  possessed  her  at 
his  gentleness.  He  spoke  of  finding  her 
comfortable  accommodations  for  the  night, 
198 


PAMELA  TAKES  to  the  ROAD 

but  she  begged  him  the  privilege  of  sit- 
ting by  the  fire,  there ;  the  night  had  a 
thousand  terrors  for  her,  that  had  sprung 
to  life  since  her  brother's  strong  arms  had 
held  her,  and  she  knew  she  could  not 
stand  the  strain  of  a  strange,  lonely  room 
and  bed.  The  General  yielded,  gently,  as 
he  would  to  a  child,  and  soothed  her. 
Before  many  moments  had  passed,  Ned 
was  back,  with  several  others,  who  looked 
curiously  at  the  girl,  but  who  were  soon 
listening  intently  to  the  quick,  low  voice 
of  the  General.  Ned  was  once  more  by 
her  side,  as  they  talked,  holding  her  hand, 
speaking  tenderly. 

"Who  is  he?"  she  asked,  with  eyes 
directed  to  the  tall,  blue-coated  figure. 

"The  General,"  answered  Ned. 

"What  General?"  she  asked. 

"Washington,"  he  whispered,  and 
turned  from  her,  as  his  own  name  was 
called. 

The  hum  of  voices,  and  the  heat  of  the 
fire,  drowsed  her,  and  she  dozed  off,  not 
waking  even  at  the  far-off  roll  of  drums, 
that  sounded.  Indeed,  heart  and  brain- 
weary  as  she  was,  it  was  not  till  late  that 
199 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

she  awoke;  then  the  crash  of  musketry 
roused  her  sluggard  senses,  and  the  deep- 
toned  roar  of  artillery  brought  her  to  her 
feet,  wide-eyed.  She  stumbled  to  the 
window,  but  it  was  still  black  without; 
once,  in  a  brief  interval  of  silence,  she 
heard  shouts,  to  be  followed  once  more  by 
the  dreadful  crash  and  roar,  a  fearful 
cacophony,  that  seemed  to  split  the  night 
in  twain.  She  huddled  once  more  before 
the  dying  embers,  and  drew  the  cloak 
tightly  about  her.  His  cloak,  she  thought, 
with  a  shudder ;  and  memory,  pried  open 
once  more,  spread  before  her  mind's  eye 
the  horrid  scene:  the  red  coat,  spattered 
with  life's  red,  the  pale  face,  the  clenched 
hands — oh,  the  horror  of  it!  She  could 
have  screamed  in  terror,  but  the  hideous 
noise  overpowered  her ;  it  seemed  growing 
faster,  louder,  nearer.  She  did  scream, 
but  no  sound  came,  and  again :  then  life 
seemed  to  drop  away  from  her,  and  she 
was  still. 

She  was  lying  outstretched  on  a  skin- 
covered  pallet,  when  her  eyes  opened  next. 
She  could  hear  the  crackling  of  a  freshly- 
piled  fire,  and  the  cold,  gray  light  of  the 
200 


PAMELA  TAKES  to  the  ROAD 

early  winter  morning,  drifting  through 
the  frosted  panes,  showed  her  brother, 
standing  by  the  hissing  logs.  She  spoke 
weakly,  and  he  sprang  to  her  side,  his 
blackened  face  lit  joyously. 

"We've  won!"  he  cried. 

"Won?"  she  said,  weakly. 

"Driven  'em  back,  with  hundreds  dead 
and  prisoners."  His  voice  was  full  of 
high  elation,  and  his  bloodshot  eyes  still 
gleamed  with  the  battle  fever.  "And  it's 
all  your  doing,  sis,  dear;  all  your  doing." 

The  color  mounted  slowly  to  her 
cheeks,  but  she  had  no  feeling  of  joy. 
What  of  it?  she  thought,  and  smarting 
memory  dragged  her  back  a  thousand 
years,  it  seemed;  but  still  terribly, 
horribly  vivid^ 

The  big  General  entered  soon  after,  and 
her  blood  did  quicken  at  his  words. 
"Mistress  Towneshend,"  he  said,  "we 
have  good  cause  to  be  thankful  to  the 
Towneshend  family  this  morning.  Your 
pluck  has  saved  us  from  a  great  calamity, 
and  your  brother  has  performed  prodigies. " 
He  placed  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder,  and  she  could  see  Ned  blushing 
201 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

furiously.      He    spoke    further,  but   her 
interest  faded. 

They  breakfasted  together,  but  she  was 
silent,  only  intent  on  the  hour  when  she 
should  start  on  the  backward  journey. 
No  persuasion  would  keep  her  in  the 
camp  another  night,  and,  shortly  after 
dusk,  with  a  small  escort  of  troopers,  and 
her  brother  at  her  side,  she  set  out.  It 
was  different  from  the  mad  scamper  of  the 
night  before;  they  took  other  roads,  and 
felt  their  way  cautiously.  The  distance 
seemed  interminable,  and  Pamela  won- 
dered, dreamily,  how  she  and  Bess  had 
covered  it — and  lived.  The  escort 
halted  about  three  miles  from  the  town 
and  waited,  while  Towneshend  went  for- 
ward with  her  alone.  Then  he,  too, 
turned  back,  after  a  thousand  dear 
messages  to  the  loved  ones,  and  a  kiss, 
which  she  received  passively.  She  had 
been  like  stone  the  whole  day,  and  had 
bewildered  and  frightened  her  brother. 
He  was  reassured,  however,  by  the  vehe- 
mence with  which  she  had  urged  her 
home-going,  but  his  misgivings  rose  again, 
as  he  was  about  to  leave  her. 
202 


PAMELA  TAKES  to  the  ROAD 

"I  am  well,  Ned,"  she  said;  "don't 
worry." 

But  he  did,  and  watched  her  canter 
away  out  of  sight,  fearfully. 

She  reached  the  house  without  further 
adventure,  and  a  low,  discreet  whistle 
brought  the  devoted  Sambo,  lantern  in 
hand,  hurrying  out.  He  was  bursting 
with  a  hundred  questions,  but  she  brushed 
his  loquacity  aside,  and  fairly  ran  for  the 
house.  The  back  door  was  open,  and  she 
passed  through  hurriedly,  and  to  the  little 
sitting-room  frequented  at  night  by 
Cynthia  and  herself. 

"Pamela!"  exclaimed  her  cousin,  as  she 
stood  before  her,  and  they  were  locked  in 
one  another's  arms. 

"He  is — is  dead?"  stammered  Pamela, 
holding  her  hard  at  arm's  length. 

"No,"  answered  her  cousin. 

"Thank  God,"  she  said,  fervently. 

"He  is  still  unconscious,"  said  Cynthia, 
"but  Dr.  Gregory  has  every  hope.  Tell 
me  everything." 

"I  know  nothing,"  cried  Pamela.  "I 
must  go  to  him." 

And,  a  little  later,  in  answer  to  a  timid 
203 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

knock,  Gregory  opened  to  her,  and  she 
stood  before  him,  haggard,  pale,  and  wild- 
eyed. 

"I  can  help  you,"  she  said,  pleadingly. 

"Not  with  those  rings  about  your  pretty 
eyes,  dear,"  the  old  man  answered, 
gently.  "Rest  to-night,  and  to-morrow 
we'll  see." 

She  could  have  wept,  pride  was  so  little 
a  part  of  her  now ;  but  she  stifled  back  the 
sobs  and  crept  off  to  bed,  praying  for  the 
day. 


204 


CHAPTER  XVII 


COMPENSATIONS 


The  three  weeks  that  followed  were  try- 
ing ones  for  all  three.  To  D'Arcy,  lying 
stretched,  with  a  shattered  arm,  and  torn 
side,  from  which  the  bullet  had  been 
extracted ;  to  Gregory,  constant  and  inde- 
fatigable in  attention,  and  to  the  silent, 
hovering  girl.  There  were  desperate 
moments  of  pain  for  all ;  then  long,  still 
watches,  with  moaning  intervals,  while 
nature  grappled  with  the  wounded  man, 
and  bore  him  on,  at  snail's  pace,  out  of 
the  shadow. 

Side  by  side,  the  old  Doctor  and  Pamela 
waited  with  their  hearts  in  their  mouths. 
The  little  tragedy  had  come  to  Gregory 
like  a  bolt  from  a  clear  sky,  and  though 
he  was  too  old  a  campaigner  to  lose  his 
wits,  it  had  stunned  and  unnerved  him. 
The  lad  was  the  center  of  his  little  uni- 
verse, and  to  see  him  laid  low,  shut  the 
light  out  of  his  life.  He  was  completely 
205 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

in  the  dark,  too,  as  to  the  happening,  and 
that  worried  him.  For  a  wild  moment, 
that  night,  he  had  thought  of  Dacier,  but 
common  sense  and  later  reports  dispelled 
that.  Cynthia  had  told  him  of  hearing 
the  shot,  and  rushing  in  to  find  D'Arcy 
on  the  floor.  He  could  get  nothing  else 
from  her.  Was  there  anything  else  to 
get?  He  didn't  know.  D'Arcy  himself 
could  not  speak,  and  he  had  finally  to 
give  up  surmise  and  wait.  Cynthia  told 
him,  further,  that  her  cousin  was  ill,  and 
her  appearance  the  next  night,  tapping  at 
the  door,  bore  this  out.  Indeed,  it  was 
only  the  girl's  resistless  supplication  that 
gained  her  admittance.  He  was  afraid  of 
having  two  invalids  on  his  hands.  But  he 
became  accustomed,  after  a  day  or  so,  to 
the  quiet,  tireless  figure,  that  glided 
noiselessly  in  and  out  on  sick-room 
errands,  and  after  a  fortnight  she  had 
made  herself  indispensable  to  him,  and  the 
wounded  Guardsman,  too. 

D'Arcy  watched  her  for  days,  as  if  in  a 

dream.      Then,  summoning  courage,  he 

questioned  Gregory,  and  the  color  came 

and  went  in  his  pale  cheeks  when  he  was 

206 


COMPENSATIONS 

told  that  Pamela  had  been  waiting  on 
him  day  and  night.  He  said  nothing, 
but  there  was  no  pleasure  in  his  thoughts. 
They  were  alone  in  the  room,  at  times,  for 
hours,  he  pretending  the  deepest  sleep, 
while  often  in  an  agony  for  water,  a 
change  of  position,  or  one  of  the  hundred 
of  a  sick  man's  needs.  Anything  could  be 
borne  but  her  pitying  ministrations ;  and 
still,  the  room  seemed  bare,  uncomfort- 
able, and  colorless  to  him  when  it  lacked 
her  presence. 

Never  had  she  seemed  so  near  and 
familiar  to  him,  and  yet  separated  by 
such  immeasurable  distances.  As  the 
days  dragged  on,  this  far-away  familiarity 
grew  into  a  tantalizing  but  dear  inti- 
macy. Through  half -closed  lids,  when 
she  was  unaware,  he  studied  and  doted  on 
every  line  and  bend  of  her  supple  figure, 
watched  her  quick,  simple  movements,  her 
mass  of  brown  hair, — sometimes  wayward 
and  astray,  but  oftener  cabined  by  the 
daintiest  of  caps, — and,  once  or  thrice, 
she  set  his  heart  pumping  by  a  flash  of 
eyes.  And  this  woman,  the  woman  of  all 
women  for  him,  who  had  scorned  his 
207 


D'ARCY  of  tU  GUARDS 

love,  who,  when  he  had  stood  in  her 
path,  had  stricken  him  down  wrathfully, 
now  succored  and  tenderly  served  him. 
"Through  what?"  he  asked  himself,  a 
hundred  times,  to  receive  but  the  one 
answer,  that  always  set  him  writhing: 
"Pity!"  Such  was  the  value  of  the 
young  gentleman's  worldly  experience. 

And  through  the  weary  days,  Pamela 
was  battling,  too.  She  had  mighty  fortifi- 
cations of  pride  and  maidenly  reserve,  but 
gradually  they  were  reduced,  one  after 
another,  by  the  steady,  persistent  on- 
slaughts of  remorse,  and  that  subtle  engine 
of  siege:  love.  Capitulation  was  delayed 
time  and  again,  but  at  last  complete  sur- 
render came  in  confession  to  herself :  the 
hardest  task ;  and  once  the  humiliation  of 
it  was  tasted  to  the  full,  she  winged  to 
heights  that  dropped  the  world  dizzily 
beneath,  and  a  beatified,  tremulous  con- 
tent was  hers;  a  content  that  turned  to 
torment,  however,  ere  she  had  fairly 
grasped  it.  She  fell  a  victim  to  the 
inexorable  law  of  compensation,  and  the 
hapless  D'Arcy,  all  unconsciously,  was 
avenged. 

208 


COMPENSATIONS 

It  fell  out  in  a  simple  way,  and  was  the 
cause  of  long  days  and  nights  of  delicious 
agony.  The  fourth  week  of  the  young 
Irishman's  bed-ridden  existence  was  drift- 
ing by,  when  one  morning  Pamela 
noticed  for  the  first  time,  on  his  dressing- 
table,  a  tiny,  exquisite  miniature.  It  was 
conspicuous  enough  in  its  tarnished,  gilded 
frame,  among  the  table's  load  of  silver, 
but  it  had  never  caught  her  eye  before. 
She  took  it  in  her  hand,  curiously,  with 
no  misgiving,  and  from  that  moment, 
content  was  banished,  and  her  heart  ached 
dully  for  many  a  long  day.  Never,  she 
thought,  had  she  seen  so  beautiful  a  face 
as  that  delicately  painted  one,  which 
looked  at  her  quite  frankly,  with  great, 
winsome  blue  eyes ;  the  hair  was  high,  in 
puffy  rolls,  powdered,  and  with  a  white 
plume ;  the  gleam  of  neck,  through  fur, 
was  a  further  beauty;  the  whole  effect 
ravishing,  and  she  put  the  picture  down, 
a  jealoiis  woman.  If  she  took  it  up  once 
during  the  day,  she  took  it  up  fifty  times, 
and  that  was  the  torture  of  the  succeeding 
days.  At  nights  she  dreamed  of  it,  and 
waking,  the  merry  eyes  and  smiling  lips 
209 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUARDS 

mocked  her  every  moment.  It  became  a 
dreadful,  hateful  nemesis,  and  she  loathed 
it,  though  it  had  a  compelling  fascination. 
She  knew  Gregory  could  enlighten  her, 
but  she  shrank  from  asking,  though  the 
question  trembled  on  her  lips  a  dozen 
times.  Tantalizing  ignorance  was  better 
than  a  knowledge  that  might  mean,  she 
dreaded  to  think  what. 

And  so  the  two  self-tortured  young 
people  passed  through  a  grim  five  weeks ; 
neither  one  guessing  the  other's  secret; 
and  both  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  one 
other  possessed  both.  Gregory,  with  the 
aid  of  his  solitary  evening  pipes,  and  the 
previous  knowledge  he  had  of  D'Arcy's 
condition,  had  caught  the  drift  of  affairs, 
and  dreaded  the  coming  convalescence, 
which  was  at  hand.  In  fact,  it  came 
sooner  than  he  had  dared  to  hope,  and  his 
patient  was  soon  clamoring  to  be  let  upon 
his  feet. 

It  was  a  bitter  day,  near  the  end  of 
February,  when  that  notable  event  at 
last  took  place.  Very  pale  and  very 
weak,  wrapped  in  his  gorgeous  dressing- 
gown — on  which  his  arm,  slung  in  black 
210 


COMPENSATIONS 

silk,  rested  like  a  blot — and  leaning 
heavily  on  his  old  friend,  he  shuffled  into 
the  big,  bright,  cosy  sitting-room,  where 
a  huge  fire  crackled  a  welcome  to  him, 
and  the  sunbeams  danced  merrily  at  his 
approach.  He  was  as  irritable  as  an  old 
cat,  but  Gregory  bore  with  him  gently,  in 
fact  rather  liked  it  as  a  sign  of  returning 
spirits. 

"Damn  it,  Greg,  don't  be  so  careful; 
I'm  not  going  to  break,"  he  growled. 

"Sit  here,  by  the  fire,  boy,"  answered 
the  old  man,  letting  him  drop  gently  into 
a  great  chair  that  was  placed  directly  in 
front  of  the  blaze.  "Some  one  has  evi- 
dently prepared  against  your  coming,"  he 
added,  with  a  twinkle,  and  pushing  the 
footstool  a  trifle  nearer. 

"Oh,  you  and  she  both  coddle  me  like  a 
child,"  said  D'Arcy.  "I  won't  have  it, 
Greg,"  he  flung  out,  angrily. 

"Tell  Miss  Towneshend  that  yourself," 
rejoined  Gregory.  "It  will  be  a  very 
gracious  way  of  thanking  her  for  her 
services.  And  I,  myself,  will  trouble  no 
more  about  you,"  added  the  old  man, 
huffily. 

211 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"I'm  a  beast,  Greg;  forgive  me," 
answered  the  youngster,  "but  it's  hard, 
damned  hard." 

"Of  course,  it's  hard,  lad,  but  we've 
pulled  you  through,"  said  the  other, 
gently. 

"Yes,  you've  pulled  me  through,  but 
I'd  rather  have  stopped  at  the  other  end. 
You  know,  I'll  never  use  it  again,"  said 
D'Arcy,  piteously,  pointing  to  the  arm 
that  hung  helpless. 

"You  want  to  be  thankful  I  didn't  take 
it  off,"  answered  the  doctor,  forcing  his 
gaiety. 

"I  don't  want  to  be,  and  I'm  not.  To 
think  that  that  good  right  hand  that  has 
served  me  so  well,"  he  went  on,  "will 
never  grasp  sword-hilt  or  press  trigger 
again.  But  I'll  shoot  with  the  left,  Greg, 
and  will  show  him  a  rapier  can  be  handled 
well  enough  on  the  other  side." 

"Show  who?"  exclaimed  Gregory,  won- 
dering if  the  lad  had  gone  out  of  his  head. 
"What  are  you  talking  about,  man?" 

"That  blackguard,  Dacier,"  answered 
D'Arcy.     "You  remember  that  night,  he 
dared  to  speak  of  her." 
212 


COMPENSATIONS 

"Surely  I  told  you,  Jack,"  said  the 
old  man,  gently. 

"Told  me  what?" 

"About  Dacier." 

"You  told  me  nothing." 

"He  was  killed  in  the  first  charge  that 
awful  morning." 

"Killed!"  cried  D'Arcy. 

"And  Farquhar,  too,"  added  the  doctor. 

"Poor  boys,"  said  the  Irishman,  his 
head  drooping.     "God  rest  their  souls." 

This  was  the  first  of  many  similar  morn- 
ings, and  patient,  doctor  and  nurse  left 
the  sick-room  behind  with  gay  hearts. 
The  sunny  sitting-room,  where  they  now 
foregathered,  warmed  them  all,  after  the 
chill  days  of  fever  and  worry.  Pamela 
was  still  haunted  miserably  by  the  laugh- 
ing face  of  a  gracious  dame  in  high, 
powdered  coiffure,  and  D'Arcy  bore  a 
gnawing  pain  that  was  not  in  his  arm, 
while  old  Gregory  watched,  waited,  and 
felt  for  them  both. 


213 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

TWO   THAT  WOULDN'T   SEE 

The  old  Quaker  town  held  high  revel. 
Gaining,  feasting,  and  dancing  appealed 
more  to  the  doughty  Sir  William  Howe, 
than  winter  campaigning,  and  annihilation 
of  the  enemy  was  postponed  till  spring. 
There  were  a  few  who  fretted  at  the  dalli- 
ance, but  it  was  a  gay  little  army  of  occu- 
pation, and  dull  care  and  mordant 
memories  fled  before  their  festivities. 
The  galling  disappointment  of  their  sharp 
repulse  at  Valley  Forge  was  the  talk  for 
nine  days,  of  mess-room  and  barracks,  but 
it  was  an  optimistic  little  army,  too,  and 
not  easily  ruffled.  The  end  of  the 
rebellion,  in  their  minds,  was  simply  post- 
poned till  the  frost  had  left  the  ground, 
then  horrid  retribution  was  to  follow  swiftly 
on  their  path,  and  His  Majesty's  enemies 
were  to  be  smitten  from  the  earth's  face. 

The  news  of  their  favorite's  recovery 
spread  through  the  town,  and  not  a  day 
215 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

passed  but  D'Arcy  held  a  small  levee. 
Young  officers  and  old  crowded  his  sunny 
sitting -room,  and  only  left  when  the 
watchful  Gregory  turned  them  out;  Sir 
William  and  the  Earl  of  Cornwallis,  too, 
called  and  congratulated  him  on  his  con- 
valescence. There  were  many  question- 
ings as  to  the  cause  of  his  accident,  but  no 
suspicion  was  aroused  by  his  vague  tale  of 
a  pistol's  careless  handling.  Only  his 
lynx-eyed  old  friend  thought  that  there 
were  things  left  untold.  It  was  late  one 
winter's  afternoon,  when  they  were  sitting 
together  alone  in  the  dusk,  that  the  old 
man,  for  the  first  time,  ventured  to  probe 
into  the  mystery. 

"Tell  me,  Jack,"  he  said,  "how  did  it 
happen?  You've  never  given  any  decent 
account  of  it." 

"I  have  no  decent  account  to  give," 
answered  D'Arcy,  leaning  forward  with 
tongs,  to  lift  a  recalcitrant  log  into  the 
blaze.  "I  stopped  at  the  gate  to  talk  with 
Dalrymple  for  a  moment,  and  then  came 
back  to  the  house." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Gregory,  quickly, 
"and  you  found  her  there?" 
216 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

"I  found  no  one  there,"  replied  the 
Irishman,  not  turning  a  hair. 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  did,"  said  Gregory, 
puffing  clouds,  and  seeing  that  it  was  no 
easy  matter  to  get  through  his  friend's 
guard.     "Go  on,"  he  added. 

"Well,  I  walked  over  to  the  table," 
went  on  D'Arcy,  deliberately,  settling 
back  in  his  chair,  "put  down  the  candle, 
and  picked  up  one  of  the  pistols.  And 
somehow  or  other,  the  damned  thing  went 
off." 

"Did  you  pick  it  up  with  your  left 
hand?"  questioned  the  doctor,  quietly. 

"How  the  devil  do  I  know  which  hand 
I  picked  it  up  with?"  answered  the  young 
man,  pettishly,  having  recourse  to  the 
tongs  again. 

"That's  what  I  would  like  to  know," 
replied  Gregory,  drily.  "How  the  devil 
could  you  know?" 

"I  picked  it  up  with  my  right  hand," 
snapped  out  D'Arcy,  getting  angry. 

"And  it  went  off?"  said  the  old  man. 

"That's  what  I  said." 

"Then  how  did  it  happen  to  hit  you  in 
the  right  arm  and  side?"  There  was  too 
217 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

much  of  the  pride  of  the  successful  cross - 
examiner  in  Gregory's  voice,  and  D'Arcy 
turned  on  him,  furiously. 

"I  will  not  be  cross-examined  and 
bullied,  Greg,"  he  cried.  "It's  unkind 
of  you.  I  tell  you,  it  went  off,  and  that's 
all  I  know  about  it." 

Fortunately,  at  that  moment  came  a 
familiar  tap  at  the  door,  and  Gregory 
opened  it  to  Pamela.  D'Arcy  tried 
eagerly  to  rise,  but  she  motioned  him  not. 

"You  must  not  move,  Major,"  she  said. 
"I've  brought  you  your  broth."  She 
handed  him  a  snowy  napkin,  and  the 
steaming,  savory  bowl. 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "You  take  too 
much  trouble  for  a  well  man.  I  am  get- 
ting quite  myself." 

"He'll  soon  be  defying  us  both,  Doc- 
tor," she  answered,  gaily,  turning  to 
Gregory. 

"Yes,  he'd  dispense  with  us  now,  if  he 
could,"  grunted  Gregory,  and  then,  seized 
by  some  perverse  inspiration,  he  added, 
"He  has  just  been  telling  me  how  the 
accident  happened." 

Luckily  for  the  girl,  the  friendly  dusk 
218 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

shadowed  her  paled  cheeks  and  involun- 
tary start,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  trepi- 
dation in  her  cool,  "  Indeed?' ' 

"Yes,"  went  on  the  doctor,  "and  I 
can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  see  how  he  did 
it,  unless  he  was  trying  to  commit  sui- 
cide," he  added,  jocosely. 

She  had  herself  well  in  hand  now,  and 
replied  in  the  same  mood,  "The  Major  is 
too  good  a  shot  to  have  bungled  it,  if 
that  was  what  he  was  trying  to  do." 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Greg,  shut  up," 
interposed  D'Arcy.  "Miss  Towneshend 
has  had  trials  enough  the  last  five  or  six 
weeks,  without  being  bothered  further 
about  the  stupid  business." 

"I'm  mum,"  rejoined  the  doctor. 

And  a  few  moments  later  Pamela  de- 
parted, tremblingly,  thankful  for  D'Arcy's 
interposition. 

"She's  a  goddess,  Greg,"  murmured  the 
youngster,  as  the  door  closed  behind  her. 

"I  beg  to  differ  with  you,  Jack,"  said 
the  old  man,  seating  himself  again.  "I 
think  she's  human,  and  very  much  of  a 
woman." 

"Ah,  you  old  misogynist !  What  do  you 
219 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

know  about  the  sex,  and  what  do  you 
care?"  laughed  D'Arcy. 

"I  know  more  about  this  particular 
young  lady  than  you  may  imagine." 

"And,  pray,  what  do  you  know?" 

"That  she's  very  much  in  love  with  a 
friend  of  mine,  named  Jack  D'Arcy." 

"Are  you  mocking  me,  Greg,  or  are  you 
mad?"  cried  the  Irishman,  springing  to 
his  feet,  and  turning  on  the  old  man. 

"Neither,  may  it  please  your  worship." 

"I  thought  you'd  have  had  more  sense 
than  to  have  imagined  such  a  thing." 

"Why  has  the  young  person  been  flutter- 
ing about  you  for  the  past  two  months,  if 
she  hasn't  designs  on  you?"  asked 
Gregory,  coolly. 

"It's  pity,  Greg,  pity,"  said  the  other, 
bitterly,  and  then  he  added,  stiffly, 
"Please  don't  speak  of  her  to  me  as  a 
young  person." 

"A  thousand  pardons.  And  what  is  it 
they  say  pity  is  akin  to?" 

D'Arcy  turned  a  pitiable  face  to  him. 
"Don't,  Greg,  don't,"  he  cried,  "I  can't 
bear  it.  Can't  you  see  it's  breaking  my 
heart,    man.       She    gives    me  pity  and 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

tenderness,  as  she'd  give  it  to  a  child,  or 
some  other  broken,  worthless  thing,  such 
as  I.  But  her  lore !  She'll  keep  that  for 
a  man ;  a  man  who  can  guard  and  shield 
her  with  his  good  right  arm." 

All  the  pent-up  anguish  in  the  man's 
heart  burst  forth  in  this  little  speech,  and 
brought  tears  to  the  old  man's  eyes. 

"God  forbid,  Jack,"  he  said,  "that  I 
should  ever  think  the  calumny  you  breathe 
against  her." 

"It's  no  calumny,"  cried  D'Arcy. 
"Do  you  think  any  blame  attaches  to  her? 
Do  you  think  I  snivel  because,  angel  that 
she  is,  she  doesn't  see  fit  to  fall  in  love 
with  a  piece  of  a  man?" 

"I  think  you're  working  yourself  in- 
to a  very  harmful  state  of  excitement, 
that's  what  I  think.  Sit  down."  He 
was  alarmed  at  the  other's  quiet  intensity. 

"Curse  it,  Greg,"  went  on  the  young 
man,  "would  you  have  me  take  it  like  a 
stone  image?  I  shall  sail  for  England  as 
soon  as  I'm  able  to  put  foot  aboard  ship, 
and  what  has  life  for  me  there?  It'll  be 
ashes  in  my  mouth." 

"And  all  because  you  were  careless  in 
221 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

handling  a  pistol,"  Gregory  couldn't  help 
saying.  D'Arcy  made  no  answer,  but 
turned  savagely  on  the  fire.  The  old  man 
watched  him  silently  for  a  few  moments, 
then  spoke  again.  "See  here,  Jack, 
what's  the  use  of  ruining  your  happiness 
for  the  sake  of  an  idea?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  talk  like  a  philosophical  trea- 
tise," was  the  rejoinder.  "What  do  you 
mean?" 

"I  mean  that  your  beastly  pride  has 
choked  the  common  sense  out  of  you. 
Give  the  girl  a  chance." 

"Would  you  have  me  crawl  to  her  like  a 
crippled  beggar,  and  try  to  work  on  her 
sympathies?"  sneered  D'Arcy. 

"Perhaps  your  potential  lordship  would 
prefer  to  have  the  lady  make  the  ad- 
vances," was  the  reply. 

"Greg,  you'll  drive  me  mad  with  your 
folly.  What  have  I  to  give  her?  How  on 
earth  could  I  dare  to  hope  to  make  her 
happy?  I'm  a  wreck  of  a  man,  and  no  fit 
mate  for  her  likes." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  old  man,  bound 
to  make  his  impression.  "You'll  be  as 
strong  as  ever  you  were,  in  a  month. 
222 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

And  as  for  what  you  have  to  give  her,  a 
pretty  estate  and  an  old  name  are  not  to 
be  snuffed  at,  even  by  a  little  American 
rebel.  There  is  many  a  London  dame 
who  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  being 
My  Lady  D'Arcy." 

"I  can't  agree  with  yon,  Greg,  and  what 
you  suggest  is  impossible.  You  don't 
understand  women  as  I  do,  old  man, 
and,  therefore,  there  is  no  use  of  talking 
about  it  further."  There  was  the  note  of 
finality  in  his  voice,  and  Gregory  drew  off 
from  the  attack. 

"As  you  please,  Jack,"  he  acquiesced, 
and  withdrew  his  forces  in  good  order, 
with  full  determination  to  renew  the 
attack  in  another  quarter. 

Opportunity  was  shy  for  a  day  or  two, 
during  which  time  D'Arcy  talked  con- 
stantly of  his  immediate  return  to  Eng- 
land. The  old  man  knew  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  detain  him  much  longer, 
and  he  was  resolved  to  appeal  to  Pamela. 
He  chanced  upon  her  quite  by  accident, 
one  morning  on  his  way  out,  in  the  book- 
room,  and  decided  to  speak  plainly  at 
once. 

223 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Miss  Towneshend,"  he  said,  "I  want 
to  speak  with  you  about  Major  D'Arcy." 

uHe  is  not  so  well?"  she  asked,  anx- 
iously, the  color  mounting  in  her  cheeks. 

"He  is  not  well  at  all,"  went  on 
Gregory,  bluntly,  "and  next  week  he 
proposes  to  sail  for  England." 

"For  England?"  she  faltered,  blankly. 
"He  is  going  back — you  think  him  unable 
to  stand  the  voyage?" 

"Under  certain  conditions  it  would  do 
him  good,"  answered  the  doctor,  fully 
conscious  that  he  had  filled  the  girl  with 
consternation. 

"And  will  he  not  go  under  the  most 
favorable  conditions?" 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  you,  Miss 
Towneshend,"  he  replied,  deliberately. 

"Upon  me?     I  don't  understand. " 

"Miss  Towneshend,"  said  the  old  man, 
gently  enough,  "women  can  wound  in 
more  ways  than  one ;  and  a  bullet  wound 
is  not  necessarily  the  most  dangerous 
thing  that  can  befall  a  man." 

"You  are  talking  riddles,"  stammered 
Pamela,  faintly. 

"I  will  speak  plainly,"  he  said.  "Jack 
224 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

D'Arcy  has  entirely  recovered  fromt  he  ill 
effects  of  his  shattered  arm,  but  a  very 
dangerous  malady  has  him  in  its  clutches. " 

"What?"  she  cried. 

"Love-sickness,"  answered  Gregory. 

"Captain  Gregory,  are  you  trying  to 
make  merry  at  my  expense?" 

"Nothing  could  be  further  from  my 
thought,  Miss  Towneshend,"  he  said, 
kindly.  "I  speak  only  because  Jack 
D'Arcy 's  happiness  is  a  dear  thing  to  me. 
I  have  known  him,  as  lad  and  man,  these 
twenty  years,  and  I  can't  stand  by  to  see 
his  life  broken  simply  on  account  of  a 
misunderstanding. " 

"A  misunderstanding?"  she  quavered. 

"Just  that.  The  man  is  mad  in  love 
with  you,  and  has  been,  ever  since  the 
first  day  he  set  foot  in  your  gardens, 
yonder." 

She  smiled  sadly,  tolerantly,  at  the  old 
man's  folly.  "Captain  Gregory,"  she 
said,  "you  speak  from  the  heart,  I  know; 
out  of  the  fullness  of  your  wish  for  your 
friend's  happiness.  But  you  are  utterly 
mistaken  in  your  idea.  He  does  not  love 
me;  he  despises  me."  These  words  were 
225 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

flung  from  her,  with  a  vehemence  that 
startled  him. 

"Despise  yon!"  he  cried.  "Miss 
Towneshend,  are  yon  in  your  right 
senses?" 

"Ah,  you  can't  mislead  a  woman  in 
such  a  matter,"  she  replied,  more  quietly. 
"Major  D'Arcy  may  have  had  a  passing 
fancy — once;  but  you  don't  know  all,  you 
don't  know  all.  He  can  never  love  me." 
There  were  tears  in  her  voice,  but  they 
made  no  impression  on  the  old  man,  who 
was  simply  irritated. 

"I  tell  you,  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about,"  he  said. 

"Did  he  send  you  to  me?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  Gregory  replied,  eagerly.  "He 
said  there  was  no  use." 

"And  he  was  right." 

"Don't  you  care  for  him?"  spluttered 
the  doctor,  fast  losing  self-control,  "for,  if 
you  don't,  I'm  an  old  simpleton." 

"I  have  made  no  pretense  of  not  caring 
for  him,"  said  Pamela,  in  a  low  voice, 
with  down-bent  eyes. 

"And  yet  the  young  fool  says  it's  only 
sympathy.  Bah ! ' '  ejaculated  the  old  man. 
320 


TWO  that  WOULDN'T  SEE 

"He  has  a  chivalrous  regard  for  my 
feelings,"  she  answered. 

"My  dear  young  lady,  can't  you  see?" 
he  questioned,  testily.  The  perversity  of 
the  two  was  slowly,  but  surely,  delivering 
him  into  the  hands  of  his  temper.  Her 
answer  was  almost  all  that  was  needed. 

"We  women  do  not  see  in  such  matters. 
We  feel,"  she  said.  "A  woman's  heart 
tells  truth." 

"Rubbish!  Miss  Towneshend,  pure  rub- 
bish. You've  been  reading  too  much  of 
Mr.  Richardson,"  he  retorted. 

She  saw  that  he  was  mightily  put  out 
and  annoyed,  and  she  offered  him  her 
hand.  "Captain  Gregory,"  she  said, 
"you've  been  very  kind,  but  I  am  afraid 
your  wishes  father  your  thoughts.  I 
thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
but  I  know  it  can  never  be." 

He  hardly  heard  her ;  he  only  knew  that 
a  malign  waywardness  seemed  to  possess 
these  young  people,  and  that  they  were 
determined  to  shut  the  door  on  their  own 
happiness.  It  was  unbearable,  and  choler 
at  last  bested  him. 

"I  will  not  stay  here  to  be  so  abominably 
227 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

misunderstood,"  he  cried.  "You  are 
both  a  pair  of  blind  young  idiots,  and  I 
wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  thing." 

He  swung  his  cloak  about  him  vio- 
lently and  made  for  the  door,  poor 
Pamela  standing  amazed.  He  turned 
before  leaving,  and  was  about  to  speak, 
but  thinking  better  of  it,  bowed  and  made 
exit;  his  muttered  "Oh,  damn!"  floating 
back  behind  him. 

The  girl  was  all  of  a  tremble  and  would 
have  dissolved,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
memory  of.  a  pair  of  dancing  eyes  and 
cherry  lips,  that  smiled  at  her  from  a 
gilded  frame, — her  unknown  rival. 


CHAPTER    XIX 


ADJUSTMENTS 


D'Arcy's  talk  about  returning  to  Eng- 
land soon  developed  into  preparation. 
He  was  daily  getting  stronger,  and  would 
soon  be  able  to  stand  the  journey  to  New 
York,  where  he  intended  to  take  passage 
aboard  a  frigate  that  was  to  sail  about  the 
first  of  March.  Gregory  kept  close- 
mouthed,  and  had  a  painful  satisfaction  in 
knowing  the  punishment  that  Chance  was 
meting  out  to  two  who  would  not  see, 
but  this  selfsame  Chance  was  capable  of 
vagaries  that  even  he  was  unsuspicious  of. 
It  decreed  pale  cheeks  and  lusterless  eyes 
to  the  young  Irishman,  and  a  broken  spirit 
to  the  maid,  then  whirled  inconseqnently 
about,  and  uplifted  them  both. 

It  was  a  day  of  queer  happenings  in  the 
"next  week,"  that  had  been  the  burden  of 
D'Arcy's  talk  of  departure.  Reports  of 
the  preparations  had  reached  Pamela, 
through  Sambo,  and  she  braced  herself 

229 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

stoically,  though  drooping  within.  The 
day  of  broths  and  special  little  culinary 
preparations  for  the  invalid  had  long  since 
passed,  and  they  seldom  met.  She  wondered 
if  he  would  say  good-bye;  the  word 
sounded  like  a  knell,  and  she  could  have 
prayed  to  be  spared  the  hearing  of  it  from 
his  lips.  But  she  must  see  him  before 
he  went;  that  was  imperative.  He 
had  made  no  allusion  to  that  terrible 
night,  but  she  could  never  rest  with 
the  burden  of  it  till  she  had  pleaded 
for  pardon ;  that  little  he  might  afford  to 
give. 

She  arose  on  the  eventful  morning, 
wretchedly  wan  and  tired.  Breakfast  was 
an  unwelcome  obligation,  and  even 
Cynthia,  who  was  growing  accustomed  to 
a  dejected  and  spiritless  Pamela,  could  not 
refrain  from  comment.  It  passed  un- 
heeded, and  only  the  startling  appearance 
of  Sambo,  with  bulging  eyes,  drove  away 
the  listlessness. 

"Massa  Ned's  come!" 

"Who?"  she  cried,  springing  up. 

"Are  you  mad,  Sambo?"  gasped 
Cynthia. 

230 


ADJUSTMENTS 

But  his  wits  were  approved  that  instant 
by  the  entrance  of  the  tall  young  dragoon, 
who  bent  a  moment  later  under  a  loving 
weight. 

They  pelted  him  with  a  hundred  ques- 
tions, and  wondered  at  his  dress  in  full 
uniform.  He  joked,  and  teased  them 
gaily ;  said  that  he  had  come  to  attack  the 
British  single-handed,  and  much  more 
foolishness  to  the  same  effect,  but  finally 
told  them  that  he  was  in  under  a  flag  of 
truce,  to  negotiate  an  exchange  of  pris- 
oners. The  moments  were  precious,  and 
Pamela  sped  to  her  mother,  to  give 
warning  of  his  approach,  in  which  was 
mixed  a  tender  thoughtfulness  for  the 
lovers. 

Was  it  Chance  that  took  her  through 
the  book-room?  Who  can  tell?  She 
might  have  gone  the  other  way  around, 
but  didn't ;  and  as  she  crossed  the  thresh- 
old, she  saw  him  standing  before  the  fire. 
He  was  dressed  in  black,  and  though  his 
face  was  as  white  as  the  lace  at  his  wrists 
and  neck,  he  had  never  seemed  so  hand- 
some. His  arm  hung  in  a  scarlet  sling, 
the  one  touch  of  color.  Her  first  instinct 
231 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

was  to  withdraw,  but  he  had  turned  and 
faced  her  before  she  could  follow  it 
out. 

"Miss  Towneshend,"  he  said,  "I  have 
been  wishing  for  just  this  opportunity.  I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 

She  felt  that  the  "good-bye"  was  com- 
ing, and  her  tongue  clove  to  her  mouth ; 
she  was  icy  cold. 

"I  can't  thank  you  in  words  for  all 
you've  done  for  me  these  last  weeks,"  he 
added. 

"Don't,  Major  D'Arcy,"  cried  the  girl, 
painfully.  "Don't  thank  me.  Forgive 
me,  if  you  can,  in  your  heart;  but  to 
thank  me  for  what  little  reparation  I  have 
been  able  to  make  stings  like  a  blow." 

He  looked  at  her,  in  wonder. 

"Forgive  you,  Miss  Towneshend.  And 
you  speak  of  reparation?  It  was  the  for- 
tune of  war;  I  abide  by  it,  and,"  he  said, 
gently,  the  old  light  coming  into  his  eyes, 
"I  shall  always  hold  as  my  sweetest 
memory  the  recollection  of  my  lovely 
opponent." 

"You  are  magnanimous,"  was  all  she 
could  say. 


ADJUSTMENTS 

"Magnanimity  is  a  poor  gift,  from  one 
who  is  beaten,"  he  answered,  quietly. 

''I  didn't  mean  that,  believe  me,  Major 
D'Arcy,"  she  replied,  eagerly.  "And  if 
I  could  do  anything,  oh,  anything,  to 
atone  for  the  cowardly  advantage  I  took  of 
you  that  night " 

"Pray  don't  distress  yourself,  Miss 
Towneshend.  All  is  fair  in — in  war,"  he 
stammered,  shrinking  from  the  pit  that 
dreadful  other  word  would  have  opened  be- 
fore him.  "The  war-god  had  his  choice 
between  us,  and  he  would  have  been  a  churl 
to  have  chosen  otherwise  than  as  he  did." 

"You  insist  on  making  light  of  my 
offense,"  she  said. 

"The  offense,  if  any,  was  condoned  by 
the  pluck  and  loyalty  that  prompted  it," 
spoke  the  soldier. 

"You  are  too  generous  a  foe,  Major 
D'Arcy." 

"My  reward  is  in  your  saying  it.  It  will 
be  some  comfort,  when  I  am  gone,  to 
know  that  one  'red-coat'  lies  gently  in 
your  thought." 

"Captain  Gregory  was  right — you  are 
going  soon?" 

233 


D'AECY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Yes,  I  leave  to-morrow." 

"I — we  shall — miss  you,"  said  poor 
Pamela,  hardly  above  a  whisper.  Some- 
thing in  that  whisper  brought  him  a  step 
nearer.  Their  eyes  met  steadily,  then 
hers  dropped. 

"You  will  care?"  he  asked,  and  hung 
on  her  answer. 

"I  care  more  than — than  I  dare  to  tell," 
she  answered,  and  he  was  at  her  side, 
taking  her  unresisting  hand. 

"Pamela!  It  can't  be  true!"  he  burst 
out — "Greg  can't  be  right." 

"What  did  he  say?"  she  asked,  a  tremor 
of  hope  and  fear  shaking  her. 

"That  you  —  you  loved  me.  Oh, 
no,  no,  no,  he  couldn't  see  what  I 
didn't." 

"But  he  did,"  said  Pamela  humbly, 
and  then  a  great  wave  of  feeling  surged 
through  her.  This  might  be  her  last 
moment  with  him.  He  should  know  all ; 
she  would  give  him  the  opportunity  to 
spurn  her;  that  would  be  her  punish- 
ment. 

"I  love  yon,"  she  cried,  "and  I — I 
can't  stand  your  going  away."  She 
234 


ADJUSTMENTS 

waited  for  the  blow,  but  his  arm  was 
about  her,  and  his  kisses  were  on  her 
cheeks. 

"Oh,  it  can't  be  true,"  she  gasped. 
"Captain  Gregory  can't  be  right." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  D'Arcy, 
radiant. 

"That  you  loved  me  still,"  she 
answered. 

"He  never  spoke  truer  word.  I  love 
you,  Pamela,  heart  and  soul." 

"But  the  other,"  she  faltered,  unable 
to  believe. 

"What  other?" 

"The  miniature." 

"What  miniature?" 

"On  your  dressing-table.  I — I  hate 
her,"  said  Pamela. 

"Oh,"  laughed  the  Irishman,  his  eyes 
sparkling.  "Never,  you  must  love  her; 
she's  my  mother!" 

Some  moments  later,  she  said:  "You 
do  forgive  me?" 

"Hush!"  he  replied.  "Are  you  sure 
you  don't  pity  me?" 

"Pity  you?    For  what?" 

"For  being  beaten." 
235 


D'AKCY  of  the  GUAKDS 

"But  you've  won,"  said  Pamela. 
"You've  conquered  the  rebel." 

"Faith,  and  so  I  have,"  replied  D'Arcy. 
"You're  my  prisoner." 

"For  life,"  said  the  girl,  fondly.  And 
Gregory  found  them  together  when  he 
came  in  later. 

D'Arcy  was  quite  brazen,  and  reassured 
the  startled  girl,  nonchalantly:  "It's  only 
Greg,  Pamela." 

"Oh,  it's  only  Greg,  is  it?"  said  the 
grizzled  old  giant,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other,  in  blank  amazement. 

"May  I  call  you  Greg,  too?"  asked 
Pamela,  stepping  to  him,  timidly. 

"You  may  call  him  anything  you  please, 
dear.  But  I  call  him  an  old  scoundrel," 
said  D'Arcy.  "You  dear  old  rascal,  you 
know  more  of  the  sex  than  I  ever  sus- 
pected." 

"Oho,"  laughed  the  doctor,  "so  the  two 
young  fools  have  gotten  their  eyes  opeD, 
eh?  I  congratulate  you,  Major  D'Arcy, 
and  you,  Miss  Towneshend " 

"Pamela,  please,"  she  interposed. 
-  "Pamela,  my  dear,"  corrected  the  old 
man.      "Did    he    crawl    to    you    like  a 
236 


ADJUSTMENTS 

crippled  beggar;  did  the  fine  gentleman 
pocket  his  pride,  and  allow  the  angel  to 
shine  upon  him?" 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  cried  the  Irishman. 

"And,  Pamela,  do  you  think  women's 
hearts  always  tell  'em  the  truth?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked 
the  puzzled  D'Arcy. 

"He's  being  very  silly,"  said  Pamela, 
blushing  furiously. 

"Old  Greg  is  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
looks,  eh?" 

"You're  the  dearest  old  Greg  in  the 
world,"  said  D'Arcy,  and  just  then  there 
was  further  interruption,  caused  by  the 
entrance  of  Cynthia  and  Towneshend, 
who  stared  in  wonderment. 

Pamela  darted  to  Cynthia  and  kissed 
her,  exclaiming,  "Oh,  Cynthia,  some- 
thing has  happened."  She  needed  to 
speak  no  further.  D'Arcy  was  introduc- 
ing Gregory  to  the  younger  officer. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  are  con- 
valescing, Major,"  said  Towneshend. 

"Yes,   Gregory    here   and   your    sister 
have  made  a  new  man  of  me.     You  are 
exchanging  prisoners?"  asked  D'Arcy. 
237 


D'ARCY  of  the  GUARDS 

"Yes,"  said  Towneshend,  smiling.  "A 
little  different  from  my  last  visit." 

"Well,  Captain,"  said  the  Irishman, 
with  his  old-time  twinkle,  "there  i3  one 
prisoner  that  cannot  be  exchanged." 

"Indeed?"  was  the  mystified  reply. 

"Yes,"  said  D'Arcy,  stepping  toward 
Pamela,  and  lightly  taking  her  hand, 
"the  fortunes  of  war  have  made  your 
sister  a  prisoner  for  life,  eh,  Pamela?" 

"It's  so,  Ned,"  she  answered,  simply, 
through  a  mist  of  tears.     "For  Life. " 


THE   END 


^       JACKSON, 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


DATE  DUE 

UC  SOUTHERN  RBBjOWttggg 


A    000  635  51 


mtm 


DA  re j  of  the 
Guards  or  the 
Fortunes  of 

•Mffc     ^^gp        *mmt* 

War 

i^  Louis  Evan  Shipman 


